


Darkness on the Edge of Town

by kaceywithak



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 1970's, AU, F/M, Mafia!Mellarks, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaceywithak/pseuds/kaceywithak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1978 the United States cracked down on organized crime, using all types of informants to gather intel and make their arrests.</p>
<p>Katniss Everdeen had one job: find out information about the powerful and dangerous Mellark Family and pass it along to the police. Her orders were simple.</p>
<p>It was Peeta Mellark that made everything so complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. I just like to have a little fun with SC's incredible characters.
> 
> This idea has been brewing in my head for a while and with the push from my fabulous tumblr gang, it's happening! 
> 
> Thank you to sponsormusings for encouraging me to share my stories, even when I'm crazy nervous, and justmellarky/acciograce for being an very patient beta and allowing me to bounce ideas off of her. Without these two this story would have stayed in a Word document forever!
> 
> Rating is M because later things will get a bit wild. It's the 70's, what do you expect?!

**Prologue**

_February, 1979_

The beginning of “Start Me Up” plays on the old radio a few booths down. Normally any guitar riff played by Keith Richards would have a positive effect on my mood, but not today. 

I glance at the old clock hanging across the room. 4:46. Haymitch is late. As usual.

I remember the first time we met at The Hob, an old and nearly out-of-business diner that smelled of stale cigars and burnt coffee. I was apprehensive about the job and borderline nervous. The anxiety I felt that day seems laughable compared to the knot in my stomach today.

_It’ll be okay Katniss_. I can clearly hear Peeta’s voice in my head and I remember his sleepy grin this morning. I’ve lived with my name nearly 19 years but no one can say it quite like he can. Usually thinking of his voice, or thinking of him in general, puts my mind at ease but today is different. Today it only reminds me of what I could possibly lose if this doesn’t go right. 

I smell Haymitch before I actually see him: it’s the now-familiar mix of Old Spice, scotch and tobacco. He slides into the red booth across from me, not quite as graceful as most people would expect a Capitol City Detective to be, but when I think about it, Haymitch is about as far from the normal detective as you can get. 

Not that I should talk: I’m an under-twenty undercover civilian who is working with the police department to bring down the biggest organized crime family in our district. People aren’t always what they seem. 

“You wanted to meet, sweetheart?” Haymitch looks mildly annoyed but I’m far too used to him to care.

“Tonight,” I start, noticing my tone is strong and steady. I’m grateful because those are the last two things I actually feel. “If the plan goes south,” _Like I know it will_ , I think to myself. “You get him out of there. I don’t care what covers are blown and I _don’t_ care the cost. Peeta lives.”

We hold each other’s gaze. I’m stubborn and he knows it, but Haymitch is looking at me differently than his usual irritation. He seems to be sizing me up. 

“You’re awfully low on my priority list to be making such high demands.” His voice is lazy, but his slight smirk betrays him and I know that no matter what problems I gave him over the last six months, I earned his respect. 

“Promise me, Haymitch.” I lean forward and I don't break eye contact. “If shit hits the fan, you get him out of there.”

“Can I ask you something?” He leans in closer to me, more focused than before. “Why protect _him_?”

His question momentarily stumps me, though a thousand answers run through my head. How could I even begin to explain to Haymitch what Peeta means to me? What he has done for me? His charm and easy-going nature is what draws most people in, but for me it’s his unending kindness. He gives with his whole heart and expects nothing in return. Peeta is quite simply the best person I know.  

“He was born into a life he never wanted.” My voice takes on a pleading tone. “This could be his only way out, his only chance. He deserves that, Haymitch.”

Haymitch lets out a long sigh and sits back into the booth.  

“It’s a good plan.” He starts and I hold my tongue because I think it’s a rotten plan but apparently no one wants to hear that. “But if things go wrong…I’ll do everything I can to get him out of there.” My shoulders deflate and my anxiety goes down one notch.

“Thank you Haymitch.” Both of us are fairly uncomfortable with how emotional this is getting. It’s much easier between Haymitch and I when we are discussing things like hidden microphones, money laundering and the dismal season of the Capitol Canaries baseball team. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he roughly clears his throat.

 “Look, when you’re in there tonight…” he stops to make sure I am paying full attention to him. “In there you are playing your part. But you’ve got to remember who the real enemy is.”

I nod curtly even though I don’t quite know what he means. The real enemy? The lines in my life between good and bad are so blurred already. Everything is just a game, no matter what side you are on. But the game ends tonight. After tonight, Peeta will be free from the confines of his family name and I will be free of my debt to the police department. Hope is the only thing I can hold on to now.

“Any last advice?” I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall again. I have to be going if I amgoing to be ready in time. I look back to Haymitch. He looks like he wants to say something but then decides against it. Finally he answers.

“Stay alive.” It’s a simple instruction but the weight it holds makes me wonder if Haymitch is as apprehensive about this plan as I am. I nod again, slower this time, to let him know I understand both the advice and the things he can’t say. I stand up and leave the booth, knowing if I turn around I’ll ask too many questions and I don’t have the luxury of time on my side. I make my way through the Hob and out the front door, tugging my jacket closer around my body. 

_It’ll be okay Katniss._ I hear his voice again, but even in my head Peeta sounds about as nervous as I am. I take a deep breath and try to focus. 

Let the games begin. 

 


	2. Wine and roses ain't quite over, fate deals a losing hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW AMAZING IS THIS BANNER. Ro Nordmann. Incredible.
> 
> Once again this chapter would not be possible without justmellarky/acciograce fixing my silly mistakes and cheering me on!

                                             

**Chapter 1: Wine and roses ain't quite over, fate deals a losing hand**

  _August, 1978_  

_Six months earlier_

God, this city is hot in the summer. 

People think July is the scorcher month, but it’s got nothing on the humid and hazy days of August. I’m lucky to work up front in the bakery, if only for the window unit blowing cool air. Whenever I have to run back to the kitchen I’m always hit with a blast of heat from the ovens. Peeta’s white shirt is usually soaked with sweat by mid-morning and sticking to his body. But I pretend not to notice that. I pretend not to notice a lot of things about Peeta Mellark.

It isn’t easy. 

“Good morning Katniss,” He greets me with a smile and I wonder exactly how much coffee it takes for someone to be so chipper at quarter to six in the morning.

“Morning,” I am not nearly as enthusiastic and I make my way through the back door and through the already scorching kitchen. He has two fans going, but Peeta never turns the fans on full blast. I asked him about it once and he said he couldn’t hear the radio over the noise. I’ve been working with Peeta five days a week for the past three months: we’ve never had a quiet bakery. 

I make my way up to the front and flick on the lights, noticing the one over the door takes an extra few seconds to come on. Mellark’s is a small bakery and the avocado countertops certainly stand out against the dark brown paneling on the walls, but it’s the kind of little shop on the corner that people enjoy coming to. Even if they have to be served by me. 

I unlock the front door and flip the sign to read “open”, but the first customer of the day is already at the door. I open it slightly and let him in. He’s tall and looks a few years older than me, and his stripped polo looks ready to burst at the seams as it stretches over his broad chest. It takes me a moment, but I recognize him.

“Sorry, just opening up.” I mumble and he steps in, completely invading my personal space but I know I don’t have to be my fake cheerful self to him.

This customer isn’t here for a loaf of bread.

“Mellark in?” He asks and his eyes look me up and down. _Geez_. _This_ is why I stay behind the counter: the only shorts a girl can buy now a days are ridiculous hot pants and I wasn’t about to wear a skirt to work. I purposely size up in my Mellark’s Bakery shirts, but I fear that makes the shorts look even shorter. 

 “Which one?” I raise an eyebrow and he gives me an annoyed look. Our attention turns to the sound of a throat clearing and I see Peeta walk out of the kitchen, wiping his hands off with a rag. 

“Everything alright?” He asks and though his voice is pleasant, it lacks the usual cheerfulness. 

“Stopping by for Tristan.” Cato answers and he smirks when he notices the flour covering Peeta’s arms. “Little Peeta, out of school and yet your old man still won’t let you work the real business?” He’s cocky but Peeta gives no reaction to the implication.

“I’d be happy to invite you to family dinner if you would like to tell my father how to run things.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling: Peeta doesn’t have to use a sarcastic tone or raise his voice to shut Cato up. 

“I’ll be around later,” Cato mutters but he gives me another once-over before leaving out the door. I scowl at his back and offer to help Peeta stock the bread bins. 

There’s an old local saying for our town—Capitol City runs on three things: coal, cocktails and crime. The coal is a given, we are the product of a large mining settlement and conveniently located along a river. Though these days mining is a rough business to build a city on; the crisis a few years back was only part of the problem, not the height of it. Hence where the cocktails come in; you’d be hard pressed to find a bar that didn’t have miners lining up once that whistle rings at the end of the day. 

But living in a place where waves of different people come in to work means clashes, and clashes means lines are drawn. There isn’t an official map or anything, but the divisions are clear and you don’t want to step outside of your own. No one gets rich shoveling coal six days a week, but if you are willing to cast aside your moral code there were other ways to make a living.  

The Mellark Family can help you out with that.

They are a rich, powerful family you don’t want to be in debt to. I’m not sure how it all started but ever since I can remember you just _knew_ not to cross them. They own the bakery, a dry cleaning business and have “investments” that are clearly paying off. When a family gets desperate, they go to Mr. Mellark for a favor and in time they return the favor. It can get ugly, but that’s the way it is.

After the lunch hour rush (and after the temperature rises to a unbearable 96 degrees), Peeta’s older brother comes in. Tristan Mellark is the middle of the three boys, a few years older than Peeta and I, and downright dangerous. He’s the same height as Peeta, but his build is more like Cato’s: bulky and menacing. Where the oldest brother, William, is strong and silent Tristan is loud and trouble. He mouths off to teachers, police officers and anyone else who gets in his way. 

“Good afternoon,” I say politely as he barrels in the door. He looks pissed off, which isn’t too different from usual, and he heads back to the kitchen without so much as a nod of acknowledgement. I busy myself with stacking the receipt copies in an orderly fashion but I can’t help but overhear voices from the back.

“ _Look, take it up with Will. I have no idea where it is_.” Peeta sounds like he’s trying to calm his brother down. “ _You know that’s not my area_.”

“ _Yeah and why the fuck not, Peet?_ ” Tristan always sounds like a firecracker waiting to be lit. “ _You’ve been out of school a damn summer and what do you have to show for the family, huh?_ ”

“ _Shut up, Tristan. You don’t know what you’re talking about_.” Peeta’s voice is rising and I tap my fingers nervously on the counter. I’ve known Peeta since the first grade but I can’t recall a time I ever heard him raise his voice. “ _I already told you, go talk to Will._ ”

“ _I’m talking to_ you!” Their voices lower at the sound of the door chiming. I look up and see my younger sister walk in.

“It’s so hot out there! Katniss, we _have_ to get ice cream on the way home, _please_.” At fourteen years old, Prim is a poster child for the trends of the summer: ridiculously short pink hot pants, a crop top that barely stays on her shoulders and a few flowers pinned in her long blonde hair. She pushes her oversized white sunglasses to the top of her head and gives me a pleading look. 

“I thought you were seeing _Grease_ again with Emily today.” I take in her slightly pink skin. Clearly she had forgone the movie and instead slathered baby oil on and tanned on our roof. If I didn’t love Prim so much I would never believe we were sisters. 

“The movie theater had a pipe burst!” Prim throws up her hands dramatically and I snigger at her expression. “It’s completely flooded and I’m _not_ taking two busses to get to the one across town. What are we doing for dinner tonight?”

“Turkey sandwiches. I’m not turning the oven on and melting our apartment.” Prim smiles and gazes at the decorated cookies in the display. 

“Can we at least get one of these cookies for dessert?”

“Of course you can,” We both turn and see Peeta come out of the back. I hear a faint door slam and know Tristan must have left out the kitchen door. “How’s it going, Prim?”

“Hi Peeta!” She says brightly. “I came to walk Katniss back from work. 

“Quite nice of you.” He points to the elaborate display of cookies. “Which are your favorites?”

“I love that one,” she points to a blue flower. “Oh, and that one!” she points to another white flower and Peeta takes three of each and puts them in a brown paper bag.

“Peeta,” I start, knowing full well he’ll refuse to take any money for them. He simply smiles and hands the bag to Prim who squeals with delight. 

“Have a good rest of the day, Katniss.” He’s giving me a crooked grin and I can’t help but nod and wish him one as well. 

“See you tomorrow,” I say before Prim and I head out the door. I chance one more glance back just as Peeta quickly turns his head away. Weird.

“You’re soooo lucky Peeta is your boss, Katniss. He’s so nice and sweet and cute-“

“Prim,” I warn, knowing where she is going. Prim has been on my case about Peeta Mellark since I started work. I’m not blind: I know Peeta is handsome and he seems like a genuinely nice person. But I can’t afford to think about boys, not with Prim to take care of. Besides, he’s a Mellark. He’s destined for a life I don’t ever want to be a part of and the whole nice boy act will drop soon enough.

“ _Fiiiine_. I’m just saying. Anyway, so Lizzie cut her hair short, I have no idea why, but now it’s going to look very weird for school in a few weeks…” I listen to Prim rattle on about her friends and their hair choices as we slowly make our way to the ice cream shop and then back home to the apartment. Our irritable cat Buttercup is waiting at the door and he hisses at me when I kick my Keds off. We have dinner in front of the fan and talk about how we’ll eventually miss this weather in January when we’re huddled around a heater. A knock at the door startles us. 

“Who is it?” I ask the door cautiously, wishing our landlord would install one of those peek-hole things in the door. 

“Detective Haymitch Abernathy, Capitol City Police.” A gruff voice responds and my stomach drops. I look over to Prim and motion for her to get in her room. She nods and quickly darts off before I slowly open the door.  

A man who looks around 40 stands on the other side, holding his badge and sizing me up. He’s not dressed in uniform; instead he wears gray pants and a wrinkled white shirt. His eyes cut to mine. 

“Inside.” He motions in to my apartment and I let him in, despite his rudeness, because I’m not quite sure what to make of this Detective Abernathy. He smells strongly of something I can’t put my finger on and he makes his way to out small fold up table and sits down.

“Can I help you?” I ask with no hint of politeness. _Who does this guy think he is?_

“Oh, I think you can sweetheart.” He glances at the empty folding chair and then back to me. “Well go ahead and sit.”

“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”  

“Most people aren’t so…eager…to find out why a detective shows up at their doorstep.”

“Well I’m not most people.” My short answer seems to please him and I take a seat. He takes a minute to scan the apartment before turning his attention to me. 

“Your mother around?” I tense. My mother left almost five months ago, disappearing from our lives without a second thought. Six years ago my father died in an accident at the mines and she was never the same since: never left the house, never bothered to get a job to put food on the table. At twelve years old I took the reigns of the family: we moved into a smaller apartment and I spent my days after school cleaning houses with Hazelle Hawthorne. Getting the full time job at the bakery was a blessing and I didn’t hesitate to take it. It wasn’t much, but it kept food on the table and I worked to make sure Prim never had to have the kind of teenage years I did. She could have time to study, time to spend with friends—hell, she was even talking about playing field hockey in the fall. I hate my mother for what she did and hate her for leaving, but I’m not sure it’s this man’s business. 

“Not right now,” I answer coolly. He stares as me and then sighs deeply.

“Look, kid, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” I don’t respond but he continues. “I know your mother hasn’t been around for months and I also know you’ve got your younger sister still living with you, despite the fact you aren’t her legal guardian.” The knot in my stomach intensifies and I wring my hands together, squeezing them tight to keep myself focused.

“I’m not sure why you’re here, Officer Abernathy.” In a desperate attempt I start talking. “I don’t do anything wrong, I pay my bills and have a steady job—“

“You work at Mellark’s Bakery, don’t you?” He asks it as a question though its clear he already knows the answer. “Been there a couple months?”

“Yes.” It’s work to keep my voice steady and low and I say a silent prayer Prim doesn’t have to come out and use the bathroom. Officer Abernathy must notice my discomfort because he leans forward. “Listen, sweetheart I’m going to be straight with you. You know what kind of business the Mellark family runs and you know what kind of job I’m in. I’m willing to cut you some slack, so long as you keep caring for your sister like you are now. Maybe I can even help you become her guardian. Bottom line is I don’t have to tell anyone about your little family arrangement. But I’m going to need a little help from you as well.”

“What kind of help?” I’m both defensive and intrigued. The fear of Prim being taken and put into a children’s home keeps me awake most nights. And if this detective could help me make things legitimate, who says I can’t do something small and probably stupid for him? 

“Working in the bakery you must hear things…see people. I need to know who they are.” I consider his proposition. 

“So if I tell you names of who goes in the back…then you’ll help me get guardianship of Prim?” This seems too easy. I know I’m right when Haymitch lets out a short barking laugh. 

“Names, I’ve got. It’s what they do that I need. I need to know how often they go there, what they pick up, what they leave behind.”

“I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I just work the front register.” He cocks his head to the left and narrows his eyes at me. 

“I’ve spent ten minutes with you and I see you’ve got as much charm as a dead slug. You wouldn't be working with customers unless there was someone in the Mellark family who wanted you around.” His words strike me as odd: no one in the Mellark family really cares if I am around. They just want someone to do the job. I mean sure, I don’t have Peeta’s bubbling personality, but I sell bread just fine. 

But when I think about it again I wonder if Haymitch has a point. The dry cleaner employees consist of cousins and very close friends of the family. The weekend bakery shift are two men that have been hanging around the Mellark family for as long as I can remember and it’s Peeta’s brother who does the night prep work and the closing. So why was I hired? I was an outsider to these people…and yet Peeta had nearly given me the job on the spot.

I push those thoughts aside, there are more important things to think about. Can I get the information Officer Abernathy was asking for? And if I turn him down, will he turn Prim and I in? I can’t see a way out, not when they already have too much information on me and not when I have Prim to protect. 

 “So what do I do?” I ask quietly. He looks like he was expecting my answer.

 “You meet me at this address tomorrow at 7:15 p.m., after you’ve slept on it and are 100% committed.” He slides a piece of wrinkled paper across the table. Written on it is the address for a place on the outskirts of the Seam section of the city. 

“And you’ll tell me what to do?” I hate that my voice sounds small. For a split second his eyes soften, but just as quickly they go back to their steely expression.

 “Yeah kid, I’ll tell you what to do.” He lets himself out and I lean back on my chair, letting a sound out that’s an odd mixture of a sigh and a groan. Prim’s door creaks open and she walks over, sitting down in the chair that Officer Abernathy left from. 

“Are you gonna do it, Katniss?” Her voice is soft and I rub my face with my hands, trying to make sense of the past twenty minutes. 

 “I don’t really have a choice, Prim. But it’ll be just fine.” I’m quick to reassure her though I don’t believe my words. I’m staring at the wrinkled paper when Prim hands me one of Peeta’s perfectly decorated cookies. I stare at it: how Peeta manages to turn a simple sugar cookie into a piece of art is something I can never get a hold on.

_Peeta_. Thinking of him does nothing to relax the knot in my stomach and I know I will have to stop thinking of him as the same bright eyed boy who I attended school with. If I want to do this job correctly I have to think of him as the police department thinks of him: a threat. A lawbreaker. A danger to a peaceful society and responsible for unthinkable acts. 

It’s where he’s headed anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for thing chapter comes from “For Your Life” by Led Zeppelin
> 
> I am overwhelmed with the love this story is getting! I'm glad you're all as interested in the Mafia Mellarks as I am :) Please leave a review or visit my tumblr -- i'm kaceywithak on there too!


	3. You know I don't even know what I am hoping to find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I am absolutely amazed with the response to this story!! I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter...I promise Chapter 3 will be posted much faster than this one.
> 
> justmellarky/acciograce -- my biggest cheerleader is the reason I have any confidence at al!! thank you love! The incredible banner is made my Ro Nordmann

****

 

 **Chapter 2: You know I don't even know what I'm hoping to find**  

Usually at 5:00 in the morning I am cursing the old alarm clock and batting at the snooze button. But today I am already awake when the dull tones begin. I didn’t get much sleep after the visit from Officer Abernathy. 

I pull myself out of the twin bed and head to the bathroom for a shower. When Prim and I realized my mother wasn’t coming back, I moved my things into her old room and gave Prim full control of our once shared bedroom. It works out well since I wake up so early and Prim has gotten in the habit of covering the walls with posters of celebrities. I can only change in front of David Cassidy and Andy Gibb so many times before it gets very weird.

Neither the shower nor the walk to work clear my head, and I startle when Peeta wishes me a good morning before I walk in the back door. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” He sounds apologetic but I shake my head. 

 “Just surprised.” I answer. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the light over the back door illuminates Peeta. He has a full flour sack lazily thrown over his shoulder, like it weighs nothing, even though its well over one hundred pounds. He nods and turns to walk up the back steps into the door. I follow and its hard not to smile when I hear what song is playing from his radio.

“You like Peter Frampton?” Peeta looks interested and a bit puzzled. 

“Prim’s in love with him.” I smile just talking about her. “Last year I bought her the ‘Frampton Comes Alive’ album for her birthday. She played it all the time. She still does.” The right corner of Peeta’s mouth lifts into a grin and his eyes shine. It’s quite possibly the most I’ve ever said to Peeta Mellark and I worry I’m rambling, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard today.

“What’s your favorite song?” I hesitate for a minute and ponder his question.

“Probably ‘It’s a Plain Shame.’ Prim ruins the love ballads for me by playing them until I have to warn her about the record wearing out.”

“Pretty badass song choice.” His tone is approving. “How do you feel about ‘Jumpin Jack Flash?’” I make a face.

 “I’m picky when it comes to covers of The Stones. Frampton just doesn’t cut it.” Peeta throws his hands in the air and raises his head to the sky. He oddly looks like he is in church.

“Yes! _Finally_ someone agrees with me!” His hands flop down to his sides. “I mean, it’s pretty wild his early stuff never caught on, but his live album won album of the year. But you just _don’t_ touch some of Jagger and Richards’ songs.” 

“Halfway through, it just sounds like he forgets what song he is supposed to be playing.”  

“Well, when you take multiple guitar solos, it’s easy to mix it up.” He gives another one of those crooked grins and I softly laugh. We’re quiet for a minute.

“I better open up,” I gesture to the front and he nods.  

“We’ll discuss the _Some Girls_ album later!” He calls after my retreating figure and I resist the urge to laugh again. It’s not until I am unlocking the front door that I remember my visit from Officer Abernathy last night. 

I freeze, realizing what I have done. In one short conversation I completely forgot what I am supposed to do. I let my guard down and I let myself get sucked into his easy-going charm.

I know how to deal with people like me; the ones who shut people out and constantly question the motives of others. They are easy, almost simple, to figure out.

A kind, sweet Peeta Mellark is far more dangerous. 

I finish opening the front and resolve to remain focused. The only way I can succeed in getting the police the information they need is if I stay on my guard at all times. _No more slip-ups._   

The morning is busy and I am grateful for the distraction. Peeta is barely able to leave the back area, thus saving me from having to ignore him if he tries to engage me in another conversation. I’m on edge as I fill out orders for cakes and ring up loaves of fresh bread, nervous about my meeting tonight. After noon the rush begins to die down and I decide I can spare a few minutes to eat my packed sandwich, but the door jingles open.

“Hi Katniss!” _Oh god_. Delly Cartwright walks in and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She bounces across the tile, clad in a shocking pink mini dress and ridiculously high wedge sandals. Her sunglasses are clones of Jackie O’s oversized shades and she pushes them on top of her head. I wonder if they will get lost there: Delly’s curls were teased so high that she resembles a blonde version of Wonder Woman.

“Hi Delly,” If Delly’s enthusiastic greeting is at 100%, mine barely scratches 12. It’s not that I really mind the girl, it’s just that being caught up in a Delly Cartwright conversation usually leaves you feeling confused and exhausted.  

“Good GOD, but it is _hot_ out there!” She fans herself for dramatic effect. “So I’m out to pick up a new nail polish this morning and who do I run in to but Bristel Grady! She’s heading back to college next week but she wants to go to the Disco Club on Friday and I said _right on_! So now I am rallying the troops and I totally think you should come!” _Did she even breathe during that sentence?_ Delly is looking at me expectantly and I clear my throat.

“Um, thanks. But I’ve got my sister to watch.” Truthfully Prim will most likely be out with friends but there is no way I am stepping foot in a disco club. Delly makes a distraught face. 

“If only Prim look a bit older, we could totally sneak her in.” I give her a wry smile. Over my dead body is Prim going to one of those clubs downtown. “I’m meeting Andy Finnegan for lunch, do you think this looks okay?” She does a twirl in her mini-dress and I half expect to see her underwear.  

“It looks nice.” I’m awful at girl talk but Delly doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I mean it’s kind of a date, I guess? Do you think people usually take girls they’ve known their whole lives out on dates? He called a few days ago and wants to go out so I’d say it’s a date. You don’t plan things unless you like someone, right?” I get the feeling she is talking to herself but I attempt to answer. 

“I wouldn’t really know. But it sounds like a date to me.” I am saved when Peeta comes out of the kitchen.

“Oh God, Peeta you look gross! Don’t you dare hug me!” She wags one perfectly manicured finger at him and he chuckles. I chance a glance at Peeta and immediately regret it: his white shirt sticks to his body with damp sweat and outlines his muscular chest and abs. It must be one of his older shirts judging by the slightly frayed collar and the thin material. I tear my gaze away.

“You all set for your date then?”

 “Did _he_ say it was a _date_?” She shrieks and I wonder if it’s humanly possible for her voice to get higher.

 “He said you’re taking him out for lunch. It’s the seventies, women can burn their bras and pay for sandwiches now.” He is teasing her and Delly catches on a second after I do. 

“Peeta, you’re such a dweeb!” She’s indignant but she’s also laughing. Peeta catches my eyes and winks. It suddenly feels like the air conditioning ceases to work.

“Relax Del, you’re going to have a great time. You’re going to Nicky’s, right?” Delly nods excitedly and her sunglasses get even more lost in her hair. “Nicky’s a good guy, make sure he seats you by the window. You’ll get a good view of the river.”

“I’m not name-dropping _you_ on _my_ date.” Delly rolls her eyes. “I’m sure Andy can get us a table just fine.” Peeta shrugs and Delly glances at the old clock hanging in the front. “Well, I gotta go, I’m meeting him at the corner. Thanks for the talk, Katniss!” She beams at me. _Was she serious?_ “Catch you on the flip side!” She yells the stupid expression as she nearly skips out the door. Peeta chuckles as he watches her leave.

 “A woman of many, many words.” I simply nod in agreement with him. “I guess she’s right though. I better, uh, change.” He gestures to his shirt and my cheekbones start to warm. 

Another customer walks in, this one I know not here for a sweet afternoon treat. He gruffly says “Mellark?” and I nod curtly. I duck my head into the kitchen and catch a glimpse of Peeta pulling his shirt over his head. I practically jump back so I am out of his view, my face flaming.

“Uh, Peeta?” My voice is an octave higher than normal. “There’s someone here for you.”

“Be there in a minute,” he calls.

I spend the rest of my shift actively trying _not_ to think of the golden hairs I saw trailing from his broad chest to the top of his jeans.

— 

It’s a twelve-minute bus ride to the corner of 51st and Cane from the stop closest to my apartment. The bus is hot and the man next to me smells strongly of marijuana. He keeps nodding off and I wonder if his stop has already come and gone. 

I have the address memorized and I am not surprised when I turn onto a shady sort of street. The Seam section isn’t exactly the best part of town. It’s where the poorest of the poor lives, the ones who can’t even find work at the mines. Drug deals could be made in broad daylight: no one gets caught because no one cares.

I reach my destination and survey the building. It is an old diner, emphasis on the _old_. It clearly hasn’t been updated in over twenty years. 

The front window has a layer on dirt on it and yellowing paper advertises the “best cup’a Joe in town.” A weathered sign hangs above the window and it reads: The Hob.

The place is a dump but I lift my chin and walk in. Hollow bells clink against each other when I push the door open and one whiff of the place assures me that their coffee is definitely _not_ the best in town. An older woman is setting a sandwich in front of a customer and she tells me to “sit anywhere.” There are only two customers here so I have my selection of booths, but the nature of my meeting leads me to choose a seat closer to the back. I order nothing and I wait. 

Haymitch arrives nearly twenty minutes late and offers no apology. I’m not surprised, but I am annoyed. It’s getting late and catching the bus on this side of town is no easy feat.

“Were you followed?” are the first words he speaks to me.

“What?" 

“Anyone follow you here from your side of town?” I shake my head and I realize why Haymitch picked such a random and inconvenient spot for our meet. The Seam section is not Mellark territory. “So you think about it?” I nod slowly. 

“How long will I have to do this?” I ask. He sighs.

“Until I’ve got the information I need.” _What a bullshit answer_. I’m about to call him out him on it when he reaches into his worn briefcase and pulls out a manila folder. He slides it over to me. 

“There are three men in this folder. I want you to memorize their faces and their names. And if they come in to the bakery I want you to report how long they stay and if they leave with anything they didn’t have before.”

“ _Anything_ they didn’t have before?”  

“Anything.” He places a wrinkled business card onto of the file. “You’re to call me from a pay phone and report the information using the code names listed at the bottom of each page. After you memorize the names, code names and faces of each person you are to immediately burn this file. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” I sound more sure than I am. “I just report to you what you need. It doesn’t seem too difficult.” 

“It’ll get difficult if you get caught.” He speaks bluntly and my stomach drops. “Capitol City Police cannot and will not claim you if something happens.” His gray eyes meet mine and my hands wring together in my lap.

“So I’m on my own then?”

He nods. “Can you handle that?”  

I scowl.

“I can handle a lot more than other people my age, Officer Abernathy.” I’m defiant and he seems to enjoy it because he gives a short chuckle and slides out of the booth. He’s about to walk past me when he stops and leans down. 

“And sweetheart? If we’re going to be spending so much time together you might as well call me Haymitch.” I scowl again, but he’s already out the door. I wait a few minutes before I leave.

—

I only know one of the men in the file, the other two take more effort to memorize. It’s nearly midnight when I finally feel confident enough to destroy the descriptions and rough sketch. 

I light a match and carefully burn each sheet. I’m staring at the bronze haired boy’s face crumble into ashes before my eyes when my mind wanders to a place I have been trying to ignore. There’s a strong possibility it could soon be Peeta’s information on a sheet just like this one, a rough sketch of his face, a label of “THREAT.” But the thought of watching even a sketch of Peeta catch fire before my eyes, knowing what I would have to do after, is more than I can handle tonight. 

My stomach remains in knots and for the second night in a row I don’t sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Jackson Browne's incredible song "Running on Empty" (which is basically the story of Katniss' current life)
> 
> Come hang out on tumblr! I love answering asks about this story, I'm kaceywithak there too


	4. Throw it all at me, I can shrug it off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I am insanely grateful and excited about the reviews, favorites and shares this story has gotten! I am having a really fun time writing it and it makes me so happy to read your thoughts. I can not thank justmellarky/acciograce enough for being my brain-twin and cheering on this story as it develops. 
> 
> Ro Nordmann designed the insanely cool banner for this story....and yes, that car IS Peeta's Camero ;)
> 
> Happy reading and I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

 

                                                                      

**Chapter 3: Throw it all at me, I can shrug it off**

_September, 1978_

“I’ve got two for you.” I say in response to Haymitch answering the phone. Usually I get Johanna when I call the office, a woman detective who I can tell simply by her voice not to cross, but not today. “Fox 33: yesterday for six minutes, all in back. When he came in a brown paper bag was sticking out of his back jeans pocket. He left without it and without anything else. Green 4: stayed for twenty minutes, ten in front, ten in back. Left with small box in his back pocket.”

 I roll my eyes remembering the charismatic man with bronze hair and bright green eyes. He was obnoxiously flirtatious and kept asking about nuts in the bread before Peeta came and got him. 

“That’s it.” I finish. 

“Got it.” Haymitch hangs up the phone without another word and I exit the old phone booth.

 —

The back light is dim when I approach the bakery and I frown when I realize there is no light coming from the building. The door is locked and confirms my suspicion: Peeta isn't here.

I bite my lip and decide to wait a few minutes on the back step. The alley is quiet and I tap my fingers against my thigh. The wooden step is cool against my skin when I sit down. 

Ten minutes pass and I begin to fidget. Peeta has never been late to the bakery. I think back to high school and I cannot recall a time where he was even late to a class. I start to feel slightly anxious and stand up.

_Could something have happened to him?_ I dismiss the thought with a rough shake of my head. Peeta is not only perfectly capable of taking care of himself but no one would dare to mess with a Mellark.

_Except you_. This thought is impossible to dismiss and I feel my heart rate quicken. The police can’t possibly have enough information yet. It’s barely been a month and I’ve only done three call-ins. Even so, I shouldn’t be so concerned. _I’m_ not the one breaking the law.

A pair of headlights interrupts my internal battle I sigh in relief as Peeta’s Camaro stops. 

“I’m so sorry!” Peeta is quick to exit the car and he frantically runs a hand through his blonde curls. “That storm we had must have kicked the power, my alarm was shit and no one else is awake at the hour.” He steps into the back light and I notice his shirt is inside out and he has a hint of stubble lining his jaw. He looks like he literally bolted out of bed.

“It’s okay—“

“I never sleep this late!” He’s distraught and I decide not to bring up the shirt. Or the fact that quarter to six isn’t exactly a sleep in.

“It’s really fine.” I shrug my shoulders and he shoots me another apologetic look before locating the key to the building.

The morning is rushed, both with Peeta remaining frazzled and customers crowding the front to escape the rain. It starts as a late morning drizzle but by the early afternoon it is full on pouring. 

Delly stops by, sporting a hot pink rain jacket, boots and matching umbrella. Since neither of us went off to college this fall, she makes a habit of coming into the bakery three times a week for “girl talk” (Though really only Delly talks. I mostly nod.)

“It’s been raining for ages!” Delly announces, taking off her jacket hood. Even in a storm, her hair never moves. “I had to take cover in the record store when it got bad but then _Claudia Glimmer_ and her posse of hoes walked in and I am NOT standing in the same room as her. God, she makes me crazy.” Delly and Claudia had a feud that apparently went back to the fifth grade when Claudia told the class Delly stuffed her bra with tissues. I was in that class and remember none of it, but Delly describes it as being traumatic. 

“Do you want anything? Peeta made Coffee Cupcakes with Buttercream icing.” I motion to the display case and her eyes light up.

“Katniss, you know me _so_ well!” I really don’t, but I get her the cupcake anyway. She digs in her purse but I shake my head.

 “You know he won’t let me take your money.” This is an ongoing battle between Delly and Peeta. 

“He means well, but he is _such_ a pain.” She starts eating her cupcake and makes a sound of approval. “He can make a mean cupcake though.” The doorbell chimes and Tristan walks in, looking thoroughly pissed off.

“Tristan!” Delly either ignores his mood or is immune to it. “I _never_ get to see you!”

“What’s happening?” Tristan stops and gives her a slight smile. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard a hint of affection in his voice. 

“Oh, you know, trying not to drown out there. Katniss and I were just talking about your brother.”

 “You were?” He asks and he raises an eyebrow at me. I bite my lip and say nothing, though I notice he and Peeta have the exact same angular jaw. 

“ _You’d_ let me pay for a cupcake, wouldn’t you?” She motions to her half eaten cupcake and he chuckles.

“Course I would, Del. Just saw your cousin at the dry cleaners, he says you’re trying to fix me up.” He quirks his eyebrow again and she dramatically sighs.

“Jacob is such a tattletale.”

“Stop sending me girls, Delly.” His tone is still good-natured, even though he is trying to sound annoyed. 

“Geez, you make it sound like I’m some pimp! I’m just trying to get you a nice girl, don’t you want to be happy and married like Will?” He rolls his eyes and heads towards the back. “Tristan, I am talking to you!”

“And I’m not listening!” He calls back. 

“I try to do _one_ nice thing for a boy I’ve known for-ev-er,” She finishes off the rest of her cupcakes and then goes in the back to demand Tristan drive her home. 

I do a final wipe down of the counter and bread bins, noticing the rain is still coming down. I glance down at my red Keds and grimace. As if I haven’t beat these shoes up enough over the past two years, I’ll have to walk through a flood and figure out how to dry them in time for work tomorrow. 

“Do you want a ride home?” Peeta’s question takes me off guard and I turn around. He’s leaning on the front counter, mindlessly looking through the receipts.  

“Um, no I’ll be fine.” Thunder rumbles and the front window shakes. Peeta gives me a half grin and shakes his head.

“I figured you’d say that. But I’m still driving you home.” The sky lights up with lightning and I know it’s pointless, not to mention stupid, to actually refuse. 

“I’ll help finish up your stuff then.” I follow him to the back and notice most of his things are already put away. Peeta grabs a small and battered notebook from his back pocket and looks it over, crossing a few things off. “Tristan won’t be back in until later to do the prep work.” He explains, writing down a few things.

‘Why doesn’t he work during the day?” Peeta doesn’t take his eyes off of the notepad but I see his jaw tense.  

“He’s got other things to do.” There is a slight bitterness to his tone and I don’t press it. When he puts the pen down and looks at me, his face is back to normal. “Why, sick of me already?” I roll my eyes and he seems to find it entertaining. “C’mon, let’s make a break for it.” He takes out a rung of keys and removes one. “Just run out, I’ll lock up the door.”

It only takes twenty seconds to sprint from the back door to his car, but I’m dripping wet when I slide in the passenger seat. I reach over and unlock Peeta’s side right as he runs up. He yanks open the door and quickly gets in the car. 

“Thanks for unlocking my door,” He is smiling widely at me and I feel my cheeks begin to color.

“Anyone would do it,” I try to brush off his gratitude but, as usual, Peeta doesn’t let me. 

“No, they wouldn’t.” He holds my gaze and now I know my cheeks are really coloring. I hand him his car key and stare out the window.

The car literally _roars_ to life and it takes me by surprise.

“Sounds awesome, right?” Peeta looks like a kid who just opened the best birthday present and I find it sweet.

“Your car is nice.” The car is as cool on the inside as it is on the outside and kept relatively clean for an eighteen year old boy. “Does it go fast?” He grins again. 

“Thinking about going for a joyride? I wouldn’t recommend it in this weather.” He hits a knob and he radio kicks on, a commercial advertises an Atari. We slowly back out of the driveway.

“I’ve never driven a car.”

“Definitely not in this weather, then. Hey listen,” he turns up the radio. The opening riff of “Beast of Burden” comes on and I can’t help but smile. It’s hard for me to pick a favorite song of all time, but I have a feeling this one will always stay in the top 5. 

 He taps along on his steering wheel and I hum the opening verse. The rain picks up and the drops of water compete with Mick Jagger’s voice, but Peeta turns the radio higher to drown the noise out.

“ _Am I hard enough, am I rough enough, am I rich enough, I’m not too blind to see_ ,” I don’t realize I am singing along until Peeta glances over during the second chorus.

“Sorry,” I say but he shakes his head. I’m surprised he heard me over the radio.

 “It’s a great song!” He shakes his shoulders back and forth and joins in for the bridge “ _Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl_.” His voice is terribly off key as he tries to his the high notes and I let out an embarrassing snort. “C’mon Katniss, sing along!”

 And for some reason I do. I’m not nearly as loud as he is, nor as bad, but we finish out the song together. Peeta’s right hand reaches to turn the dial down. 

“There are some songs you just have to listen to at full volume and sing along.” I nod in agreement, but my easiness of the last three minutes fades with the song. 

“How do you know where I live?” I only just realize I haven’t given him any directions but he maneuvers the city streets with ease and turns on to my block with no instruction.

“You filled it out on your employment application.” He shrugs. “I know the area.” Another question, one that’s been gnawing at me since Haymitch’s first visit, pops in my mind and I do not think before asking it: 

“Why did you hire me?” His eyebrows raise and he pulls into an empty spot across the street from my apartment building. He turns the car off and he rotates so he is facing me. He meets my gaze and has my full attention and I realize too late I don’t want to hear his answer. 

“Well, for starters, you applied.” He says this kindly, though I feel like an idiot anyway. “I know you don’t like people that much, but you really are good up front. You’re a hard worker and you’re always on time. You don’t mind helping out when it’s slow and you handle the rush without getting frazzled. Plus,” he continues. “Taking over the bakery meant I had to hire someone I could get along with for 40 hours a week.”

“You get along with everyone,” I point out, ignoring his praise. He gives another shrug.

“Still doesn’t mean I can trust them.” And the way he looks into my eyes makes me heart sink. I can tell that he means it, that he trusts me.

I have to get out of the car.

“Well, I should, uh,” I point to the apartments. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime, Katniss.” His sincerity is suffocating and I all but sprint to the front door. I accidentally slam the door to my apartment shut and scare myself. I’m a jittery mess and I’m thankful Prim isn’t home from school yet.

For the second time today I pace the room, my thoughts on Peeta Mellark. He trusts me. Obviously he trusts me with running the front of the bakery and keeping track of the purchases, but I had a feeling he meant he needs to trust someone for a lot more than receipts for cupcakes. 

He needs to trust someone to keep the secrets.

And I was calling them in to freaking Capitol City Police Department. 

I sink into our old couch and bury my head in my hands. _What have I gotten myself into?_

The shrill ring of the phone startles me and I walk to the kitchen to pick it off the receiver.  

“Hello?” 

“We need to talk.” Haymitch is not the person I was expecting to hear from. 

“About what?” I speak to him as shortly as he speaks to me.

“About the boy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN. Chapter 4 will pick up right where this left off :)
> 
> The title of this chapter (and the lovely soundtrack to Katniss/Peeta's car ride) comes from The Rolling Stones "Beast of Burden" (1978). 
> 
> As always, I adore fangirling on Tumblr-- I am kaceywithak there too


	5. Baby you just ain't seen nothing yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single review on this story makes me smile and feel so happy :) this is such a wonderful and supportive fandom...Everlark shippers are the BEST shippers!
> 
> A huge thank you to justmellarky/acciograce for keeping me motivated through this chapter with the Tristan Mellark fangirling and the amazing cheering on. 
> 
> ALSO: This chapter is very sweary because the Mellarks are a bit hot headed and so are their enemies.

****

 

**Chapter 4: Baby, you just ain’t seen nothing yet.**

_September, 1978_

“What boy?”  My question is calm, but my heart is beating wildly. How does he know? And, more importantly, _what_ does he know?

 “Don’t waste my time. The youngest one. Peeta.”

 “What about him?”

 “You two are close.” He says it as a statement and I scoff.

 “I wouldn’t say that. We went to school together and I work with him…but it’s not like we’re friends.” I twist the phone cord around my finger and bite my lip.

 “He gave you a ride home today.”

 “What, do you guilt people into following _me_ around too?” I’m as sarcastic as I’ve ever been with Haymitch but he doesn’t take the bait.

 “Listen kid, you need to find a way to see him outside the bakery.” I actually take the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a second. He has got to be _kidding_ me.

 “That isn’t the deal,” I say through my teeth. “I’m not going to pretend to be his friend or whatever. That’s too far.” Haymitch makes an irritated sound.

 “Like it or not, that family will want to know more about you. You’re lucky you’ve lasted this long, but they’re going to want to get close to you. You have to let them get close _your_ way. They do it their own way, they might not like what they find.” I mull over this new development and it pains me to admit Haymitch may be right.

 "So how do I let them get close?” I feel slightly moronic for relying on social advice from a forty-something detective.

 “Hang out with them outside of work. Don’t let them wonder about what you do on weekends because if they wonder they will eventually go looking.”

 “What am I supposed to do?”

 "I don’t know!” He sounds frustrated. “Whatever you kids do!”

 “I don’t _know_ what kids do!”

 “Well then find out and just do it! _Jesus!_ ” He hangs up abruptly and I throw the phone back into the receiver. The rain pounds against the window and it takes me a long time to calm down.

 —

I listen to Delly go on about her mother’s disastrous experience at the hair salon as I work up the courage to bring up her weekend plans. It figures the _one_ time I actually need Delly to ask me to hang out, she doesn’t. I worry she finally realizes I am socially hopeless.

“So you got any plans for tomorrow? I feel like dancing the week away!” Her face is hopeful; maybe she hasn’t given up on me yet. 

“I could go dancing,” I say casually and she squeals so loud that Peeta comes up from the back to see what the commotion is about.

“Katniss is going out with us tomorrow night!” She beams at Peeta and I try to avoid his gaze, but he catches it anyway. His eyes sparkle with amusement. Delly starts listing the possible outfit combinations in her closet and I immediately regret listening to Haymitch. Peeta seems to sense my nerves and as he walks by he gives my right shoulder an affectionate squeeze. 

“It’ll be fun,” he tries to reassure me but it only makes my stomach sink lower.

 If possible, I might be even worse off than before.

—

I chance a glance at myself in the small mirror on my desk and then look away. Delly had shown up on my doorstep an hour ago with the “essentials” (which apparently needs three shopping bags) to get ready for our night out. Currently, my hair is up in complicated curlers and I look like an alien. Delly’s hair is also up, but she chose to wrap it around empty soda cans since she is going for a “loose” look tonight. Whatever that means.

“You know, you and Peeta have almost _identical_ record collections.” She flips through one of my crates of albums. “Do you listen to a lot of music together at the bakery?” 

“I mostly stay up front,” I answer. I don't mention how I occasionally hover by the back when I hear a particularly good song on the radio.  

“Well neither of you have Natalie Cole which is _so_ far from normal.” She shakes her head and pulls out Cheap Trick’s _In Color_ album and stares at the front. “These guys are decent to look at though. Motorcycles are kind of sexy, don’t you think?”

“I guess so.” I shrug. “Aren’t they kind of dangerous though?”

“That’s half the point!” She throws me a wink and I can’t help but smile. It’s impossible to dislike Delly. Even when she makes me her life size Barbie. “Alright, it’s almost time to take your hair down and then we can get you into your outfit and finish makeup!” She advances towards me and I hear my door creak open. 

“Katniss? I’m leaving for Amber’s sleepover in fifteen minutes. Do you have money in case we see a movie?” 

“I left five dollars on the table. That should cover a movie, soda and popcorn.” I catch her eye in my mirror and she beams at me.  

“Thank you!” Her attention turns to Delly who is struggling to take a hot roller from my hair. “Delly, do you need help?”

“I’d LOVE some, Prim! Can you grab a fun record first and then we’ll work on the hair?” Prim dashes to her room. “It must be so nice having a sister. I always have to get ready by myself.” I watch her fluff out the curls with a paddle brush as they neatly fall to my shoulders. I realize my assumption Delly only talks to me because it is convenient when she’s at the bakery is wrong. Maybe Delly really thinks of me as a friend. 

Being as I can count the number of actual friends I have on one hand, the thought of having another, especially a girl, is surprisingly nice. 

We listen to ABBA and soon the small bedroom is filled with a haze of hairspray and Chanel No. 5. (Delly says “If it is good enough for Marilyn Monroe then it is good enough for me!”). Prim reluctantly leaves for her sleepover, but urges me to have fun before she goes. 

Delly’s father won’t let her work so she spends most of her days browsing the shops downtown and bought a new outfit for each of us. I try to refuse and then try to pay her back, but she won’t take any money. She says it’s an honor to “pop my club-going-cherry”, which I blush furiously at. 

Delly is wearing a mustard color mini-dress with ruffles all down the front and sky-high heels. I’m nervous when she pulls out my outfit, but once I put it on I calm down. The dress is orange, but a muted shade that shows off what is left of my summer tan. It has an eyelet neckline and is shorter than I usually wear, but it’s an inch longer than Delly’s and the heels she gives me are not nearly as high.

“I…wow Delly. Thanks.” I’m not good with words but she seems to understand and pulls me into a hug. I get a face-full of White Rain hairspray and try not to breathe it in. She releases me and smoothes out her dress.

 “Okay, so we’ve got thirty minutes before the boys get here. Follow me!” She leads me to the fridge and yanks the door open. I see a bottle of white wine sitting next to club soda and wince.

“We’re going to have wine spritzers! I already chilled them, so now I just need two glasses!” To be honest, I probably need a little liquid courage to face the evening so I oblige. 

I’ve only had beer before and never had more than two in one sitting, so the wine is a foreign taste on my tongue. It’s too sweet and the bubbles from the seltzer make it even harder to swallow, but I sip it anyway. We drink and talk and listen to more ABBA, but 9:00 comes quickly and Delly sprays us both with more perfume before we grab our bags.

Peeta is walking up the darkened path to my door when we walk out. 

“Beat me to it,” I can see his lit up smile from the street lamp. Peeta looks normal: a simple red polo shirt and faded jeans, but I blush anyway when his gaze lands on me. “You look…you look really nice, Katniss.” His hands are in his pockets and he shifts from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, it’s a little different from the bakery clothes I guess.” I offer. He gives a light shake of his head.

“You look nice in those too.” I don’t know what to say, but I am saved by Delly making a strangled sound in her throat. 

“New car?” She asks Tristan, who I notice is leaning on the passenger door of the sedan.  

“For the night.” He responds casually. “Needed four seats.” 

“Where’d ya get it from?” 

“Get in the car, Delly.” Tristan sounds both annoyed and amused. We follow his orders and drive the few blocks down to the club. We really could have walked, but I have the feeling Tristan likes an entrance.

Club Capitol looks like it’s trying to be Studio 54 with the obnoxious disco ball and the flashing lights. The DJ starts a Bee Gee’s song and I catch Peeta’s eye. I raise my eyebrows at him and he leans down to talk directly into my ear. 

“Do you think my brother is trying to be John Travolta?” I glance over at Tristan at the moment he tugs his leather jacket off to reveal a far too tight, deep v-neck shirt. I have to stifle a snort" 

“If the music fits.”

Peeta cracks a grin and offers to get the drinks. Delly grabs my hand and we follow Tristan to a table a few feet from the dance floor. Tristan picks off the “Reserved” sign from the table and flings it behind him.

“This table is reserved,” I say before I can help myself. He shoots a look at me.

“It’s reserved for us.” _Of course_. Thankfully Peeta arrives back with a tray of four fancy looking drinks.

“Daiquris on the house,” He shoots Tristan a look I can’t read, before handing me a glass. I take a sip: it’s sweet like the wine spritzer, but the hint of lime balances it out. It’s delicious. 

A few daiquiris later, Delly drags me on the dance floor. The lights are flashing and my head is feeling lighter than usual, but I have to admit I am having fun.

“Tristan is such a goof, he _never_ dances.” Delly points to where Tristan sits at the table. A few people had come up to him while we enjoyed our drinks. Cato arrived, giving me a very obvious and lewd once-over and asked to speak to Peeta alone. This seemed to upset Tristan and he’s been stewing ever since. 

“He only smiles around you,” I blurt out and Delly makes a face.

“You are buggin’ out. I LOVE THIS SONG!” She throws her hands in the air and I laugh because it’s the third Donna Summer song they’ve played tonight and Delly has reacted the same way for each one.

It’s nearly pitch black except for the glistening disco ball and the strobe lights, but I see Peeta come towards us and he effortlessly picks up the dance. When we turn to the left, I can feel him behind me and the already hot dance floor seems to rise in temperature. I’m conscious of my hips moving back and forth, but it doesn’t bother me that Peeta is only a few inches behind me. If anything, I am encouraged by it and I shake my hair along with the rest of my body.

We rotate again and Peeta and I are nearly touching. I look over, transfixed by how easily he moves across the floor. I know from work that Peeta isn’t exactly light on his feet, but right now he is flawless. He catches me looking at him, but instead of looking away I hold his gaze. 

I’m not sure how long we’re looking at each other, but the next thing I know, he grabs my hand and spins me so I land close to him. We continue to sway to the music but I only focus on the fact that our faces are barely an inch apart. 

His normally bright blue eyes are shades darker and his lips slightly part. I feel an urge to tip my chin up, to bring my face closer to his when we hear Delly shout.

“ _Peeta_!” She’s looking over at the table where Tristan is standing and yelling in the face of a much taller, must bulkier man. Peeta takes off in a flash and Delly and I run after him. Two of the bouncers come over and immediately grab a hold of Tristan and the other man. They drag them out of a side door and throw them both into a parking lot. We follow and I get my first up close glimpse of the other guy.

Tall and muscular, he looks like he has been lifting weights since he could walk. He has a red mark on his left cheek, probably from Tristan, and his expression is downright scary. Two more men have appeared and one holds him back. Peeta grabs a hold of Tristan’s jacket.

“I’m not playing with you, Mellark!” The stranger shouts. “You know what I want and you _better_ fucking get it!”

“Like hell, Gloss!” Tristan’s voice is lethal. “You better send someone bigger and scarier than yourself next time you want to threaten _me_ on _my_ side of town!”

“You think you’re so powerful, huh Mellark? Cause you call all the hits? You may call em, but I’d LOVE to see you carry them out. You tie the cinderblocks on Mike Titus’ feet? You put the bullet in Roger Chaff’s head?”

“ _Shut the fuck up_!” Tristan screams wildly and Peeta struggles to hold him down.

“And it’s not because you’re a big shot with other important shit to attend to.” Gloss gives a short and sadistic laugh. “It’s because you’re a coward.”

It all happens at once.

Tristan breaks free from Peeta’s hold and launches himself at Gloss, his fists flying. They fall to the ground and it’s a blur of leather jackets and shouting before I see Peeta throw himself into the mix. My stomach tightens and out of the corner of my eye I see one of Gloss’ men reach into his pocket and pull out something shiny, pointed. Something that looks eerily like a blade.

“NO!” I shout but the man makes his move and goes for the tussle. “PEETA!” I’m screaming and it’s enough to make Peeta look up, see the knife and knock it out of the man’s hand with one hard hit. Peeta gets up quickly and gives Tristan a hard pull on his jacket, so hard it takes him off of Gloss. 

I’ve never seen this Peeta before. This Peeta has fire in his eyes, yet an eerily calm expression. 

 “A knife, Seneca? I’m insulted.” Even his voice is different, carefully controlled but thick with unspoken threats.

 “What do you know, kid?”

 "I know the V.A. isn’t fond of having their G.I. benefit checks forged and duplicated.” Seneca’s anger breaks into shock for a minute, but he quickly recovers. Peeta continues, his tone never rising or falling. “I know Lavinia Jones’ son looks nothing like her husband, but looks _unbelievably_ like you. I know-“

 “You made your point.” He cuts him off, barely holding on to his anger.

“And you’ve clearly made yours. Coming to this side of the city and starting a fight? And then pulling a stunt with a knife? You know this isn’t how it’s done.” Peeta gives him a mocking smile.

“Times change.” Gloss speaks up and I see Tristan tense. Peeta puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder and looks at Gloss. Tristan is sporting a black eye and a busted up lip and his loathing for Gloss is obvious.

“Ah, but we Mellarks are old fashioned. You can tell your boss if he wants to talk, he can set up a meet with my father. Any more of this shit and I can’t promise I’ll pull him off next time.” He gives Tristan another pat on the shoulder. 

It’s quiet as the men stare at each other and it seems to drag on. I fidget in my heels and chance a glance over at Delly. She looks bored and is picking at her nail polish. Is this… _normal_?

“Let’s go,” Seneca grabs the back of Gloss’ shirt and they leave. Our group is quiet as we watch them go and it’s not until they are clearly out of the parking lot when Tristan breaks the silence.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He rounds on his younger brother.

“Get in the goddamn car,” Peeta’s is loosing his control and his voice is laced with fury. 

“No I-" 

“Jesus Tristan, get in the _fucking_ car!” I’ve never heard Peeta raise his voice before and I look over again at Delly. This time, she’s paying attention and looks as nervous as I feel.

This isn’t good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title to this chapter comes from Bachman-Turner Overdrive 's 1974 hit "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" 
> 
> Also, the Donna Summer song Katniss/Peeta dance (before it's so rudely interrupted by mafia antics) is "I Feel Love" (inspiration for the scene is from American Hustle when Bradley Cooper and Amy Adams get all lusty)
> 
> For more fangirling and silly stories about my adventures in the world/workplace/writing, come stop by tumblr!


	6. Then the door was open and the wind appeared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is a HUGE thank you to justmellarky/acciograce for calming me down when I feel like I am going insane. This chapter was a little nuts to write because so much is about to happen but I don't want to give it all away!! I'd love to hear feedback and thank you to the amazing readers who have left love on this story. You guys rock :)

****

 

**Chapter 5: Then the door was open and the wind appeared**  

The driver door slams shut and Peeta starts the car. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” He shouts, hitting the gas pedal a little too hard and lurching the car forward.

“What was _I_ thinking?!” Tristan’s voice is as loud as Peeta’s. “I wasn’t the one who told them to call up our father and arrange a fucking meeting!”

“If I hadn’t, your face would be on the cement instead of your body!”

They are silent for a minute. I feel Delly’s gaze on me, but I can’t take my eyes off of Peeta’s shaking arms as he maneuvers the steering wheel. We turn out of the parking lot and on to the deserted avenue. 

“How do you know all of that shit anyway? You’re not supposed to be involved.” Tristan’s voice is quieter than before, but it hasn’t lost any roughness. 

“I’m not involved.” Peeta’s volume drops too, but even at his angriest Peeta’s voice always lacks the bitter edge of his brother’s.

“Well it sure sounded like it. And if those assholes think you’re involved, you’re involved.”

My breathing quickens and my hands clench at my sides. I’m not sure if there is a good guy in this situation, but the thought of those people coming near Peeta again brings out a protective side in me.

“ _I’m not involved_.” Peeta repeats through gritted teeth. 

There is silence again and this time no one breaks it. When Peeta pulls up to my building I get out of the car as quickly as possible and make a beeline for the front door. It’s not until I am inside and the door is fully shut that I hear the car drive away.

I try not to dwell on the sweetness of Peeta waiting until I was safely inside. In fact, I try not to dwell on anything.

But my mind has other plans.  

I replay the night as I wash the layer of makeup off of my face, from the drinking to the dancing to the fighting. I knew this night would be weird but I didn’t expect it to turn out so dramatic. I wrestle with how much to tell Haymitch. 

_I_ don’t understand half of what happened tonight and I was _there_ , Haymitch probably wouldn’t get it at all. And it may be wrong, but I don’t want to put Peeta on Haymitch’s radar any more than he already is.

— 

I dream of a sharp silver blade and cold blue eyes and I wake up with a gasp. 

It’s after nine and it takes a few breaths for me to calm down. I run a hand through my still curled hair and look on the nightstand for a hair tie before I head to the kitchen.

The apartment is deadly quiet. While the coffee starts, I bring my record player back into the living room area and plug it in. I browse through my albums absentmindedly before landing on one I haven’t listened to in years. After staring at it for entirely too long, I slide the record out of the case and it starts the all too familiar tune.

I’m about to sit to eat my scrambled eggs when there’s a loud knock at my door, followed by three short knocks. I half smile and half groan, already knowing who is on the other side.

Gale Hawthorne stands with his arms crossed over his chest. When we were little, Gale and I were constantly mistaken for siblings because of our similar looks. Our fathers were close friends and it’s hard for me to remember a time in my childhood when Gale wasn’t around, always looking out for me even when I didn’t want the help.

“Heard _you_ were out dancing with Peeta Mellark last night.” His statement and his tone means he’s looking for a reaction and I chose to ignore him and get some coffee. “Heard you two were pretty close.”

“Don’t know where or why you heard that.” I pour the steaming liquid into my cup, only filling it three quarters of the way. I like a lot of cream and sugar to balance out the bitter caffeine. 

“Are you dating your boss?”

I whip my head around, gaping at him. “What?! No!”

“Do you _want_ to date your boss?” Gale asks the question like someone would ask if I am liking the weather and it infuriates me.

“Do you have _anything_ better to do at 9:30 a.m. than to ask me that question?”

“Nope.” Gale takes one of the folding chairs and flips it around before sitting down on it. “Seriously Catnip,” I raise my eyebrows at him. Does he expect me to be serious when he still uses that stupid nickname for me? But his eyes shift and he sits up a little straighter. “You know I was a little worried when you started working there-“

“A little?” I ask. Gale was furious with me when I started at the bakery. He bartends at Ripper’s, one of the local hangouts, and has always been distrustful of people who associate with the Mellark family. He has firm beliefs about working hard and making money the honest way: Gale says we might never get rich, but at least we can sleep with ease.

I felt the same way until I started working with the police. Now I barely sleep through the night, and the anxious knot in my chest never fully leaves.

 “…the point is, you just have to be careful, alright?” I realize I’ve been ignoring Gale but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Alright.” I nod. “But you really don’t have to worry. It was just a random, one night out kind of thing. It’s not like I’m in their _group_.” And I wasn’t. Right as I take a large sip of coffee the phone rings, so Gale gets up to answer. His voice is as gruff as usual, but after a second he slowly turns to face me, a look of pure amusement on his face.

“Delly Cartwrightis on the phone for you.” I let out a sigh. Of course she is. I reach for the phone as Gale starts to slowly chuckle.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god Katniss, who WAS that!” She sounds scandalized. 

“It was just Gale.” My breakfast is getting cold and I motion for Gale to bring me over the eggs, but he’s too busy mouthing ‘Delly Cartwright?’ at me. 

“As in _Gale Hawthorne_?”

“Yeah-“

 “Are you guys _together_?” She says the word in a whisper, like she’s asking me for the safe code to Capitol City Bank.

“No.” I have gotten used to that over the years: when you spend a lot of time with someone (and especially when you are me, who barely spends time with anyone) people will assume things. It doesn’t exactly bother me, but it gets old explaining to people how we are just friends. Delly gets the same thing with Peeta, so she immediately understands. 

“Gotcha. Well he is a HUNK, he’s got the whole dark and handsome thing going on. Anyway I was calling because after all that crazy last night I totally forgot to grab my stuff from your room.” There’s a knock at the door and Gale gets up to answer it. Delly is rattling on about what an idiot Tristan is, but I barely register her words when I see who is on the other side. 

It’s Peeta.

Peeta, who is looking between Gale and I in confusion. Gale, who is grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. And me. In my pajamas. 

“Uh, Delly?” I interupt her rant. “I gotta go…Peeta’s here.” She lets out a loud cackle. 

“Well that’s an interesting crowd! No problem, just send all of my stuff home with Peeta and then I won’t have to leave the house without my mascara. See ya!” She hangs up the phone and I turn around. Peeta is already showered and dressed for the day and I notice he is holding a brown Mellark’s bag in his right hand. 

“Hi.” _Really smooth, Katniss._

“Hi.” His voice is hesitant but he slightly smiles.

“Hi!” We both turn to Gale. His smirk is making my blood boil. 

“Gale just stopped by to, uh,” I wrack my brain but can’t seem to think of a reason Gale is here other than he takes extreme enjoyment out of being a pain in the ass.

“To make sure Katniss and Prim are coming to Sunday dinner at my mom’s. She’s making meatloaf.” I nod in agreement and he gives a shake of his head before shooting me another smile. “See ya Catnip.” I wave and as he ducks out behind Peeta he makes a ridiculous kissy face. I slam the door shut. 

“So,” I turn to Peeta, not realizing how close I have gotten to him. A whiff of his aftershave immediately brings me back to last night. I have never danced with anyone like that before. Our bodies were practically pushed up against each other and for a second I had thought maybe…

“I got you breakfast,” he holds up the bag. “I’m really sorry about last night, Katniss.” He doesn’t break eye contact. “I shouldn’t have gotten into the middle of that mess and said all of those things in front of you-”

“The swears didn’t bother me,” I give him a small smile. “I was just…well he had a knife and you were right there,” I shrug before taking the bag from him. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“If you hadn’t yelled out, I might have. Thank you,” He sounds incredibly sincere and it’s starting to make me feel uncomfortable so I play it off with another shrug.

“I’m just glad it’s all over.” His eyes shift down quickly and I see him bite the cheek, but as quickly as the look crosses his face, it leaves it. His features smooth out again and he smiles.

“Van Morrison?” He asks and I hear the record is still playing.

“It was my dad’s,” I say quietly. I don’t tell Peeta it was one of the last albums he bought, that one of the last memories I have of him is twirling Prim and I across the floor to “Come Running” while my mom laughed on our cozy old couch. I don’t tell him listening to it makes me feel a mix of laughter and incredible sadness, but somehow I think he understands.

“Are you going to really let these cinnamon buns get as cold as your original breakfast choice?” He nods towards the table where my eggs sit untouched. I give him a look, but it only amuses him more. “I mean, I am fine to eat a dozen cinnamon buns by myself-“ I perk up and open the bag. Sure enough, I am hit with the rich smell of cinnamon and melted butter and I sigh in happiness. 

We sit together at the table with coffee and cinnamon buns and talk about music and the upcoming Superman film. The album repeats itself and it’s not until an exhausted-looking Prim comes in that Peeta realizes he’s been here over an hour. I give him Delly’s three bags of clothing and hair products and Peeta doesn’t seem surprised or bothered by it.

“So I’ll see you at the bakery tomorrow?” He hovers in my doorway and I don’t miss the slight nervousness in his question.

“Always.”

He looks relieved. _Did he really think I would quit because I saw him swing a punch and heard him say fuck?_ I lock up after him and I listen to Van Morrison the rest of the day.

 —

Haymitch looks hungover, which is unusual because it’s six pm but it doesn’t stop me from laying into him the moment he sits in the booth.

“Well I _hope_ you’re happy: I almost got in the middle of a criminal throw-down because you told me to go out with those maniacs.” I cross my arms and wait for him to groan and tell me I’m not helping the pounding in his head, but his reaction surprises me. He sits up straight and his eyes are clear and alert.

“Who were they fighting?”

“Um, it was really all Tristan doing the fighting. And their names were, uh, Gloss and…” I wrack my brain for the name of the guy with the intricate beard. “Seneca. There was another one too, but I don’t know his name. No one got too badly hurt, Peeta calmed it down. He said if they want to talk to arrange a meeting with his father.” At this Haymitch’s eyes darken and a look of fear crosses his face. 

“Shit,” he mutters and sits back in his seat. I can feel something shift. 

“What is it?” He doesn’t answer. “Haymitch, who are those people?”

“Snow’s men.” I draw a blank. Surely someone who could put a look like that on a detective’s face would have a more intimidating name than Snow. “Fairly high up ones too.”

“High up?”

“There’s a reason they call it organized crime, sweetheart. There’s a strict ranking system, ridged rules you do not break. The men at the top are not only powerful, they are smart. They throw around the word family but it’s a business.”

“So how does Snow fit into this?”

“He’s _just_ business.” Haymitch’s face darkens. “Bad business. His men push drugs, girls and weapons and they take out anyone who stands in their way.” I feel numb and my face must change because Haymitch hesitates. 

“But how?” I find it impossible the police would knowingly let a person like this stay in operation.

“Fear.” The single word sends a shiver down my spine. We’re quiet for a minute before Haymitch speaks again. “Listen, this game just got a lot more dangerous. I’m pulling you off duty.”

“ _What_?” Of all of the things he has said tonight, this makes the least sense. 

“You were there. They’ll be watching you too.”

“I was there because you told me to go!” I’m probably more angry than I really should be, considering I’ve hated this secret job from the beginning but I always intended to finish it. “What about the information you need?”

“I’ll survive.” He’s so nonchalant and it makes me see red.

“Fine!!” I violently push myself out of the booth but he grabs my wrist before I can make a full turn.

“You’ve still got my number.” I scowl. “Use it if you need it.” He looks like he wants to say something more, but I am through with this conversation.

“Save it for your next time you waste someone’s time.”

I don’t wait to see his reaction. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the Blue Oyster Cult song “Don’t Fear The Reaper” (insert cowbell joke).The next chapter is an ALL EVERLARK chapter (squeal!)


	7. I ain't no fortunate son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter was quite exciting to write!! justmellarky/acciograce is not only an amazing writer, she is an AMAZING editor who I am so grateful for. Thank you for everything :)
> 
> I also wanted to make an announcement: my tumblr URL has changed to starks-and-mellarks incase you want to get some behind the scenes Mafia Mellark action and sneak peeks.
> 
> The chapter title comes from "Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)

**Chapter 6: I ain’t no fortunate son**

Halloween is more than a week away, but I have already taken three different Spooky Cake orders this morning. 

A few years ago Capitol City had some function at Mayor Undersee’s house and Mellark’s supplied the desserts. The hit of the night was the Spooky Cake \- a huge sheet cake decorated like a foggy graveyard with little edible figurines of ghosts, mummies, vampires and other scary characters. Since then, every October brings in many orders of the famous cake. Each one is slightly different but all of them are incredible. Prim and I used to pass the display in the window and press our faces up, marveling at the intricate detail.

I hadn’t realized Peeta was the one responsible for creating the Spooky Cake. 

He makes every single one: staying late and coming in early to perfect the orders. I’m standing in the entryway to the back, meaning to ask him a question about the sourdough bread when I stop and watch him work.

The radio blasts Creedence Clearwater Revival, but Peeta is nearly still. He delicately holds the icing pipe in his left hand and his right squeezes ever so slightly. Somehow he turns a steady stream of gray icing into various sized tombstones. 

The autumn weather is a welcome break from the summer heat, but Peeta’s blonde curls still stick to his forehead. His eyes are trained on the cake, still bright as usual, and his tongue slightly pokes out of the corner of his mouth. Not only does Peeta excel at decorating cakes, he seems to _enjoy_ it. 

I don’t know anyone who enjoys their job as much as Peeta does. 

The song changes and Peeta glances up at the radio, noticing me hanging in the doorway. 

“Uh,” I stutter, realizing I probably look strange and slightly creepy. “We’re down to the last loaf of sourdough bread.”

“Hm,” he looks at the clock. “It’s almost the end of the mid-day rush, we should be okay. Thanks for letting me know though.” I nod and make an exit before I tell him he has a little icing on his cheek. That would definitely make me seem creepy. 

It’s been a week since my meeting with Haymitch but the weight doesn’t feel completely off my shoulders. It’s nice not to have to call in and spy on everyone…but I feel unfinished, like I am supposed to be doing something more. It doesn’t make sense and I try to ignore it, but the nagging feeling never fully goes away.

We only have two more customers come in and I start closing up the front slightly before two o’clock. I can hear that “Kiss You All Over” song from the back and I roll my eyes. Overplayed doesn’t even begin to cover it. Peeta finds it amusing the name of the band is “Exile” and yet they are the ones you can’t get away from. The song cuts off and I smile: it’s not often Peeta gets fed up and changes the station. 

Things are easier and harder between Peeta and I: the short time we spent together outside of work makes for a comfortable work environment. We laugh more and can joke with each other, but it’s a different kind of friendship than I have with Gale. And when I think too hard about what the difference is, my mind goes to ridiculous places that could never happen. 

I’ve never been big on daydreams and I certainly am not going to start with ones about my _boss._  

“So Katniss,” Peeta leans against the doorway. I finish wiping a particularly stubborn spot on the counter before I tuck my rag in my apron and look up. “I’ve been thinking." 

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He grins at my light and teasing tone. 

“I’m going to teach you how to drive.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. _Is he serious?_

“You’re going to teach me…how to drive.” I repeat, hesitant about the idea. He gives me a lopsided smile and his eyes shine bright with eagerness. Peeta looks… _adorable_. It’s the only word to describe him right now and I get the same light headed feeling, dizzy feeling I did when we were dancing. This time I can’t play it off as a reaction to the alcohol. 

I realize I’m staring at him, too caught up in my own head so I blurt out an answer.

“Okay.” I surprise us both. “When are we going?” If possible, his smile grows.

“Today.”

 —

He drives us out past the city limits to the fairly secluded woods. The hills are covered in trees, each one a slightly different shade of orange, yellow or red. The air is crisp and there’s a slight breeze ruffling the multicolored leaves. It’s hard not to love the fall on a day like today.

He kills the engine at the start of a long and slightly winding dirt road and looks over.

“You ready, Everdeen?”

I raise one eyebrow at the name. 

“I’m channeling my inner coach here.”  

All of the Mellark boys were on the wrestling team. That probably explains why Tristan and Peeta were skilled in the fight last week.

I shake my head slightly: the last thing I want to do is remember _that_ version of Peeta. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I hold out my hand and he places the ring of keys into it. I look up and he gives me a wink. I feel the familiar heat start to tint my cheeks and I quickly exit the car so we can switch seats.

It’s the first time I have ever sat in the driver’s seat of a car. Suddenly my breathing becomes a bit heavier and I feel jittery against the tan leather seat. 

“Okay, so first: I tend to side with the research that shows a driver should put on their seatbelt. And so you don’t feel totally uncool, I’ll put mine on too.” I feel slightly more at ease when Peeta makes a dramatic showing of putting on his seat belt, but as soon as my own clicks into place the nerves are back in full force.

 “Alright,” he points down at my legs. “People tend to think they should put one foot on the break, one on the gas, but that’s actually pretty dangerous. If you hit both at the same time, or god forbid the wrong one at the wrong time, you’re going to be in trouble. So let your left foot just relax and leave the work to your right.” I nod and move my left foot over more. “Start it up!”

“Really?”

“Really.” I take a deep breath and turn the ignition. The car roars to life, but settles at a noise and vibration level that can only be described as a _purrr._ I bite my life and press my right foot on the brake, glancing at Peeta for permission to continue. He nods eagerly and I reach down to the center console, shifting from park to drive.

“Wow.” The car inches forward, slow as a snail, but I don’t care because I am _driving_. And not only am I driving, I’m behind the wheel of a pretty amazing car.

“You’re doing great Katniss!” Peeta sounds as happy as I feel. “You can go faster whenever you are comfortable.” I grin and push down harder on the pedal.

I don’t ever go above twenty miles an hour, but I feel like I am flying. The dirt road crunches below the wheels and occasionally a cloud of dust appears when I take a quick turn. The only thing I can hear over the sound of the car is Peeta’s laugh. 

“I knew you’d be good at this! I _knew_ it!” His excitement is infectious and I laugh along with him. “Alright, I am going to put on the radio. And the song, whatever comes on, will be _the_ song that will forever make you think of your first time behind the wheel.” I roll my eyes at his dramatic tone but he hits the radio knob anyway.

“ _Come on and marry me Bill, I got the wedding belle blues!_ ”

We both groan loudly. 

“What station were you listening to that _this_ songcame on?” I am trying to sound horrified, but my amusement is far more obvious. 

“I click around the stations a lot!” He’s shaking his head and a slight blush creeps up his neck as he stares at the car ceiling.

“Just change it!”

“I can’t Katniss, it’s the rules!” I keep glancing between the road and his goofy expression. “Face  it, every time you hear this girl carrying on about why her boyfriend won’t marry her, you’ll think of your first time driving.”

“So, _so_ cool.” But we finish the song and I try not to laugh too hard when Peeta starts crooning along, sounding even more off-key than usual.

He directs me to a spot up the largest hill. As we get closer I notice there’s a decent view of the city to our right, but he tells me to make a left and pull into the meadow. I park the car and as soon as I shut the engine off, Peeta opens his door and gets out. I am about to make a remark about how quickly he escapes my driving when he climbs onto the hood of his car.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying nature.” He motions in front of him and pats the spot next to him. I hesitate: it seems ridiculous and a bit irresponsible for such a nice car. “Come on Katniss, I promise you won’t scratch the hood.”

“Get out of my brain,” I grumble and climb up next to him. “You don’t like to face the city?”

“Nah, this view is way better.” I have to agree with him. The meadow isn’t that large, but it’s beautiful. The grass is tall and peppered with different kinds of wildflowers. There’s a stillness to it all and the adrenaline rush from driving settles down, along with my remaining nerves. Out here I feel content. 

A strong breeze blows and a few dandelions tumble across the hood of the car. Peeta picks one up and twirls it between his fingers.

“I like to think beyond Capitol City sometimes. Do you ever think about what else is out there?”

“Sometimes. The only times I’ve left the city were when my father had a day off and took us to this forest about an hour from here.”

“A forest?” Peeta asks, with just enough hesitance that I know he’s not pushing me to answer. Usually talking about my father makes my throat close up and my eyes prick with tears, but for some reason it’s comforting to share with Peeta.

“I think he always wished we lived in the woods. He used to say fresh air was the key to happiness. I don’t know…the woods were nice though. Peaceful.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” It’s one of the rare times I hear a slightly bitter tone in his voice and I glance over. He looks down into his lap, still playing with the dandelion. “I’ve never left Capitol City.”

This is news to me. I assumed Peeta’s family had an extra house or two, somewhere tropical or maybe even on a mountain. 

“Yeah,” he turns to me and my surprise must be obvious. “Kind of weird, huh?”

“Just surprising.” I answer. We’re quiet for a minute before he speaks up again.

“I wonder sometimes…what I would do if I got out. What kind of person I could be, what kind of life I could have.” He looks away from me and towards the meadow again. I do the same. “Hell,” he slightly laughs. “I’d probably just open a bakery.”

“So why would you have to leave here?” I ask because despite myself, the idea of Peeta leaving does not sit well with me. He sighs.

“Katniss, you know we don't work in _just_ a bakery.”

And there t is. His voice is resigned, like he has been expecting to have this conversation but dreading it all the same. I don’t dare turn my head towards him, instead I fix my gaze on the wildflowers. I’m quiet at his confession but Peeta, never at a loss for words, continues:

“It used to be. I mean, it was started as that by my great-grandfather, Peter. Did you know that’s my real name?” I can feel him looking at me, but I’m not ready to turn towards him. Instead I shake my head. “Yeah, Tristan couldn’t say ‘Peter’ when I was born, so ‘Peeta’ stuck. Half my records say it and I’m not sure if my mother even remembers which name is the real one. But the original Peter Mellark brought his family over from Ireland many years ago with nothing but a few bucks and a talent for kneading dough.”

I turn my head and my eyes meet his. It doesn’t matter that I see Peeta five days a week—the color of his eyes never ceases to amaze me. 

“Well after the Irish moved in the Italians came over. Then the Germans and the Russians and so on. My Grandpa Mickey figured we needed to protect our own. And then…” He stops and I’m suddenly more nervous than when I was behind the wheel of his car. He sighs again but doesn’t break my gaze. “Well I guess you probably know the rest.”

I do. Or at least I know parts of it. But my mind is not on the family of bakers-turned-criminals. All I can think about is this boy in front of me and how I misjudged him. I thought we would graduate high school, the nice guy act would drop and Peeta would be all too eager to take his place in his family. 

It sounds more like he never had a choice.

I reach out my right hand and lightly place it on top of his. His gaze flickers down and then back up again, giving me a smile that’s equally sweet and sad. My heart catches in my chest and I speak without thinking:

“You’re still the boy with the bread.” _Oh my god._ He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows _._ I ramble on, thinking I couldn’t possibly sound more idiotic. “In school…even when we were kids you always had fresh bread. You would bring a warm loaf in and share with the whole class.” _Apparently it’s possible to sound more idiotic._ I force my mouth shut and turn my gaze away from Peeta. 

“The ‘boy with the bread’, huh?” I can almost hear the smile in his voice, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of me so I peek to my right. He is happily looking out at the meadow and I notice he has a slight dimple. He turns back and I am relived to see he really is smiling. “Not exactly Superman, but I think I like it.”

—

It’s on my mind the whole drive back. It’s on my mind while I feed Buttercup the last of the cat food and try to ignore Prim’s endless questions about Peeta and I’s afternoon together. It’s on my mind as I do the dishes and Prim whines that all three channels are showing reruns. 

But it’s not until she and I settle in to watch a rerun of Happy Days (which Prim swears she’s seen “ _at least_ ten times”) that I start to really think about it.

I’m not a big believer in fate or destiny. To me it sounds like something from the mouth of a washed up hippie, but I do believe that sometimes life presents you with opportunities and choices.  

I still have the nagging feeling that my work with Haymitch was cut short, that I was meant to do something more. 

And I think I’m starting to figure out what that is.

 


	8. And can you see, which we we should turn together or alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has left a review on this story! Every single one makes me smile and motivates me to write even more. Just a reminder: my new tumblr URL is starks-and-mellarks
> 
> As always justmellarky/acciograce is the bomb-dot-com and an amazing beta! I'd also like to give a special shout out to erikals30 for the Tristan love and support and Pip117--the goldfish are for you!
> 
> Happy reading and have a great weekend :)

 

 

**Chapter 7: And can you see, which way we should turn together or alone?**

"I swear, one day I am going to SNAP and when I do I cannot be held responsible for what happens to that Claudia Glimmer! I cannot believe the nerve of her!" Delly furiously bites into her cupcake and shakes her head in anger.

Delly and Claudia apparently had a run in at the hair salon where Claudia dared to ask Delly if she was there to get "an even more bleached out blonde color." Considering Delly has never actually dyed her hair, she took this as the most extreme of insults and stormed into the bakery after. Peeta has been hiding in the back ever since.

"If it helps, your hair looks really nice." I really am the worst at girl talk. Delly huffs out a 'thank you' and continues to attack her cupcake. I glance toward the back and see Peeta's face peek out. 

"Coward." I mouth at him. He nods and throws a wink at me before ducking back. I bite my bottom lip and try to focus back on Delly's story. She's now moved on to listing all of the people Claudia Glimmer has fooled around with. I have no idea how she knows all of this.

The bakery phone rings in the back and Peeta lowers his music before he answers.

"Did Gale and Little Miss Bimbo ever do it? I heard a rumor once." Delly narrows her eyes at me, like my answer will either make of break her day. I shrug: I always tune Gale out when he talks about girls. 

"Katniss?" Peeta walks up. "The phone is for you, it's Prim's school." I head to the back, the knot in my stomach forming faster than my steps.

"Hello, this is Katniss Everdeen."

 "Katniss, this is Alice Brewster, the school nurse. Now I couldn't get a hold of your mother, but you're listed as Primrose's second emergency contact-"

"Is everything okay?" I interrupt.

"Primrose seems to have come down a stomach bug. It looks like a twenty-four hour illness, but she has thrown up twice in the short time she's been here. Are you available to pick her up?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. "Yes, I'll be there." I hang up the phone just as Peeta enters the back.

"Is everything okay?"

"Prim's really sick," I hate how my voice cracks. "I'm so sorry Peeta, I have to get her and walk her home, she's thrown up twice and I can come back after-"

 "Woah there," Peeta walks over and puts his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. "It's a quiet day, Delly can watch the front. I'll drive you, she shouldn't have to walk home if she's not feeling well."

I open my mouth to protest but Peeta shakes his head. He releases my shoulders and goes to the front and I hear him explain the situation to Delly. Peeta tells her to call Tristan if she has any problems, to which Delly let's out a huff and says "as if!"

We drive to our old high school in silence, my hand nervously tapping against my thigh. Peeta pulls up to the front and I nearly fly in the front door.

I arrive in the nurse's office and see my sister slouched in a chair. She's pale, has bags under her eyes and looks miserable.

"Katniss?" She looks up at me and for a minute I see her not as the teenager she is, but as the toddler who used to crawl in bed with me during thunderstorms.

"Come on Prim, let's go home." I take her backpack from her and sign her out from the nurse. The nurse talks about how she's so sorry she couldn't get through to my mother and I can feel my fake smile slipping. No one has been able to get through to my mother in six years.

I might not be the best person to take care of my sister, but at least I'm here.

"Do we have to walk?" Her voice sounds tired 

"Peeta's going to drive us," I try to say it causally. She whips her head around so quickly I worry she's going to be sick again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I roll my eyes when we approach the front door.

"I just did. It's not a big deal." She gives me an incredulous look. Peeta is standing next to his car and holding the passenger door open. I hear Prim mutter "oh my god" under her breath.

"I'm sorry you're sick, Prim." He's so sincere and it's hard for me not to smile.

"Thanks Peeta," she says sweetly before sliding into the car. I squeeze in next to her and Peeta gently shuts the door behind me. When he starts the car, he glances over at her.

"If you feel sick, just let me know and I can pull over, okay?" She nods and I rub her back. We drive to the apartment without any issues and as Peeta is parking the car, Prim leans on my shoulder.

"Do we have a can of chicken noodle soup?" She asks, her voice quiet and hopeful.

"I don't think so, little duck." I use her childhood nickname and smooth her hair. "But when we get you settled I'll run out and get some." I slide out of the seat and help her out of the car. Before I shut the door, I lean in to thank Peeta.

"I'll pick up the soup," he says and, for the second time today, when I open my mouth to argue he shakes his head and I don't protest. "I'll be back soon." I nod, close the door, and lead Prim inside.

She changes into her pajamas while I put the tea kettle on, I rummage around the near-empty cabinets for a teabag. Living paycheck to paycheck isn't easy and the last few days before payday are always the roughest.

Prim curls up on the couch in front of our tiny television. I bring the tea to her along with a bucket and a blanket. It's not long before I hear a knock and get up to answer the door.

Peeta is carrying three shopping bags.

"Everyone likes different comfort foods," he explains. "And I didn't want to take any chances." He brings them to the counter and I peek in to the closet one: I see cans of Campbell's brand soup, a few bags of candy and a box of goldfish crackers. Usually this ridiculous display of charity would have me set my jaw and scowl, but I watch Peeta grab a few cans of soup out and pour them into a saucepan and my mood changes.

I realize Peeta is not taking pity on "the poor Everdeen girls" and he's not trying to show off with the three full bags of food. Peeta Mellark is simply the kindest person I have ever met.

Not once in the time I've been at the bakery has Peeta asked about my mother. I'm not sure how he knows, though I'm not surprised: the Mellark family makes it their business to know all sorts of things. Even Capitol City Police knew, at least Haymitch did anyway. But while Haymitch used the information to coerce me into doing something I didn't want to, Peeta simply gives an extra helping hand (when I let him) 

I bite my lip and distract myself from my thoughts by loading the snacks into an empty cabinet.

"Katniss?" I glance over at the couch. "Can I have some more tea?" Prim lifts the mug.

"Don't drink it down as fast, you don't want to upset your stomach again."

"But it's good."

I roll my eyes. She's such a teenager sometimes.

I reach into the cupboard to take out soup bowls, but my fingers stop before I grab just two.

"Are you staying for soup?" I try to ignore the sound of hope in my voice as I wait for Peeta's response. He glances up from the stove and gives me a small smile 

"I'd like that." I nod and take out three bowls.

NBC is playing Saturday Night Live reruns and we crowd on the couch with our soup bowls in hand. Peeta is on one side of Prim, a ridiculous selection of different crackers in front of him. I'm on Prim's other side and when she finishes her soup, she lays her head down in my lap and I run my fingers through her blonde hair. It's a bit darker than Peeta's but as thick as mine.

"I think this is the King Tut one!" Prim's mood improves during the second episode and some color comes back into her face 

"I think so too!" Peeta perks up and Buttercup moves from his resting spot at Peeta's legs. The cat hates nearly everyone, including me, but has no problem with the blonde baker. "You know, Steve Martin is who I learned all of my dance moves from. 

"No way!" Prim is smiling now and I raise an eyebrow at Peeta.

"You don't believe me?" He asks, mock-appalled. We both shake our heads and Peeta get to his feet, timed perfectly with Steve Martin's introduction of the skit 

The music starts and suddenly Peeta's arms are flailing back and forth. He dramatically swings his hips right and left and starts doing some Egyptian walk. And then he starts singing along with the TV and it's even worse than I've ever heard him in the car, and he starts kicking his feet out and doing the arm thing again and it's hilarious.

Prim is sitting up now and the two of us laugh louder than I think we ever have before. And there's Peeta Mellark, the son of the most powerful crime figure in town, still in his clothes from the bakery, dancing around like a complete dork in our apartment and we can't stop laughing.

The skit ends and Peeta plops back down on the couch, a little flushed and out of breath and Prim still can't contain her giggles. She rests her head back in my lap but every few minutes she starts shaking which leads me to chuckling and we're both laughing together again. My cheeks hurt from smiling for so long and I glance over at Peeta to find he is already looking at me.

His eyes sparkle with mischief and his grin is lopsided and goofy. I shake my head but my smile doesn't fade and we hold each other's gaze for another minute. I realize I'm happy.

For a while I feel eighteen.

Prim falls asleep at some point and Peeta gets up to turn off the television.

"Prim," I lightly shake her. "Wake up so you can sleep in your bed," she groans and buries her head further into my lap.

"I got her," Peeta says softly and he easily scoops her up in his arms. He correctly guesses the door decorated with cut outs from Sassy Magazine leads to Prim's room and I follow him. He gently lays her down on the twin bed and adjusts the pillows and blankets around her. 

I have witnessed Peeta's kindness first hand many times, but it's never hit me right in the heart like this one. I feel something prick at my eyes and hastily blink. The last thing I want to do is get emotional about Peeta in front of Peeta. Instead I walk to Prim's bedside and run my hand over the side of her head, pushing a few stray hairs behind her ear.

"Glad you feel better, little duck." I say softly but Prim's already fast asleep. Peeta and I leave the room and I shut off the light and close the door.

I turn to him and the 'thank you' catches in my mouth when I see how close we are standing to each other.

"You're really good with her, Katniss."

We have no reason to be quiet but Peeta's voice is still hushed 

"She's my sister. 

"Not all siblings are like that," His tone isn't bitter but it's clear who he is referring to. 

"You're good with her too." I tell him because it's true and I see a hint of that smile play at his lips. "Thank you, Peeta. For everything." And it hangs in the air because I'm terrible with words but there's no better way to sum it up. Peeta has done so much for my family just by hiring me and yet he still finds ways to go above and beyond.

"Katniss," his voice gets even quieter and his head moves the slightest bit towards mine. I tilt my chin up to him and I hope he can't hear my heart hammering against my chest because I feel the erratic pulse in my ears because he leans in more and I think he's going to kiss me and-- 

A loud, snarling screech breaks our gaze and we both whip our heads to the center of the room.

Buttercup has caught a mouse. 

I fucking hate that cat. 

I sigh and Peeta nervously chuckles.

"I guess I should be heading back." He makes a step towards the door and I reluctantly follow, internally vowing to drop that cat on the other side of town and hope it never returns.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I try not to sound disappointed he's leaving because that's just silly. He gives me another one of those smiles, not as bright as before but equally as hopeful.

"See you tomorrow."

—

At first, I think he might just be tired. 

Peeta greets me normally, but I notice a hesitation in his voice. I ignore it and open up the front of the bakery without any problems, but Peeta doesn't once come up to talk. Maybe it's just really busy in the back?

Except it's not busy and yet he stays back there, only coming up once to ask for something and barely looking me in the eye. I convince myself it's nothing but the morning drags on and my mind wanders to last night.

Is he acting strange because he almost kissed me? And once that thought it in my head it's impossible to get out and I alternate between trying to forget it ever happened and obsessing over every detail. By the time Tristan comes in around eleven I am mentally exhausted.

"Everdeen," he greets and I raise my eyebrows because this is new. Tristan and I have never once exchanged pleasantries, not even after I went out dancing with them. And though his voice holds the usual coolness, he looks me in the eye and waits for a response.

"Um. Hello." Really smooth.

"All right up here?" He's staring at me like he is trying to unearth some sort of secret and for a split second I panic and wonder if he somehow knows about Officer Abernathy before I answer him.

"Sure." I shrug and try to act nonchalant.

"Sweet," he walks past without another word and I fight a small smile because he definitely got that word from Delly.

I know I'm not supposed to eavesdrop when Tristan goes to the back with Peeta, at least not anymore. But I can't help it. His strange behavior when he walked in, combined with Peeta's weirdness all morning makes me curious.

_"Oh come on Peeta, stop pretend to be all Bambi-eyed. You had to have seen this coming."_

_"Not anytime soon. We're just-"_

_"If you say 'friends' then you're an idiot."_

_I get the sinking feeling I know who they are talking about._

_"Well we are." Peeta sounds a little defeated when he says it, but Tristan speaks before I can think about why_

_"Look, I don't give a shit. Point is, what mother wants, she gets. You might as well tell Katniss now. Christ knows I'd need a few days to prepare."_

I don't catch the rest of their conversation because the door jingles again. It's Cato and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to groan. It's the weather for a jacket, but Cato is wearing a polo shirt that looks a size too small and crosses his arms in front of him.

"Gotta say, I'm missing the short shorts. Guess summer is officially over." 

"It was over months ago." I'm short with him because he's an asshole and it's November next week anyway.

"Should I start a countdown for summer '79?"

I want to punch the cocky smirk off of his face but I'm pretty sure that would get me fired.

"Well you'd have to learn to count that high first," the retort is out of my mouth before I know it and I hear a snort of laughter from behind me. Tristan casts an approving glance my way and he gestures for Cato to follow him in to the back.

"Not a fan of Cato?" Peeta is leaning against the doorway and looks more comfortable than I have seen him all day. 

"I like Cato about as much as I like disco." I roll my eyes.

"So…" Peeta trails off. I raise one eyebrow in question and he stands up straight, only to rock back on his heels. "So…my mother wants you to come to dinner on Thursday." He rushes through the sentence and I notice his right hand is rubbing the back of his neck in anxiety. It takes a minute before the enormity of it sinks in: Mrs. Mellark wants me to come to dinner.

Dinner with the Mellark family can only mean one of two things: either they found out what I have been doing and it will be my last meal ever or they want to know the kind of person I am. Considering I have been working at the bakery for over half a year without so much as a reference check, I know it can't be work related.

And it all starts to click: Peeta's attitude, Tristan's greeting…they think there's something more going on with Peeta and I. This dinner is most likely their way of finding out exactly what kind of person I am and if I can handle all that comes with dating a Mellark son. 

And judging by the look on Peeta's face, there's absolutely no way to get out of it.

\--

_Chapter tittle from the song "Amie" by Pure Prairie League_

 


	9. Long Cool Woman (In A Black Dress)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful readers! I hope you are all enjoying your summer. Thank you for all of your kind words on this story--we're just getting started on the craziness of the Mafia!Mellark world, so I hope you continue to like it! A big thank you to justmellarky/acciograce for continuing to be such a cheerleading champion for this story and an awesome beta.
> 
> Quick disclaimer: there is some homophobic/racist language in this chapter because Mrs. Mellark is mean. There are in no way reflective of what I think (unfortunately I can't say that for all of humanity, but I'd like to think one day we'll get there.)
> 
> As always, I welcome the chance to fangirl on Tumblr! You can find me at starks-and-mellarks.

****

 

**Chapter 8: Long Cool Woman (In A Black Dress)**

“Never thought I’d see the day where Katniss Everdeen becomes a bar fly.” Gale sets a beer in front of me and raises his eyebrows. 

“Prim’s got a study group at the library and I don’t want her walking home in the dark. It’s right around the corner. Figured I’d say hello.”

“Well, fell free to spill your guts as you sip on your Guinness. That’s what most of the locals do who come here for a drink at,” he checks his watch and makes a ridiculous face. “5:03 in the afternoon. Wow Catnip, you’re starting early!”

“Will you shut up and let me enjoy this?” I take a long sip of the dark drink and my shoulders start to relax. I won’t admit it to Gale, but I was going crazy in the apartment. Delly promises to come over tomorrow to help me get ready for the dinner but I nearly tore my closet apart looking for a suitable outfit. 

Nothing in my closet says “I promise I am a decent employee, your son and I are _just_ friends and I have _not_ been spying on your illegal business for the last few months.”

I try to ignore thoughts of the impending dinner but the more I try to forget, the more I can’t stop thinking about it.

“It’s Thom’s birthday tomorrow night.” Gale rests his left elbow on the counter and drops his head to his propped up hand.  

“Oh yeah?” Thom is one of Gale’s closet friends and over the years I’ve been happy to get to know him. His family lost everything in a fire right before he and Gale finished high school so Thom had taken up working in the mines. It’s horrible and he hates it, but Thom always manages to have fun on the rare occasions he goes out.

“Some of the guys are coming by here so we can celebrate. You wanna stop by?”

“I can’t." 

“Hot date?”

“Not exactly.” I debate if I should tell Gale where I’m going, but I figure if tomorrow goes terribly and I end up at the bottom of the river he’ll know where to direct the authorities. “I have to go to dinner at Peeta’s house.” Gale stops stacking the cocktail napkins and stares at me.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

“Do you think I have a choice?”

“Probably not.” His sets his jaw and picks up a pint glass, attacking it furiously with the rag. We are quiet for another minute and I finish my beer. “You’ll be careful?” Gale says the words low but I can hear the plea in his voice. 

“I’ll be careful.” 

—

Delly sets my hair in curlers again and as she looks through my closet she makes little sounds that I decipher as noises of frustration.

“I told you I don't really have a lot of dresses.”

“Yes, but I didn’t believe you were actually serious. And I can’t even lend you one of mine, it’ll hang all wrong in the bust and trust me you do NOT want that women zeroing in on anything about your outfit.” She studies a navy skirt for a minute. “You’re sure you can’t borrow something of Prim’s?”

“And show up to the Mellark's looking like a hippie from Woodstock? I’d rather not.” Prim is a decade late, but her wardrobe for high school consists of long flowing skirts and crocheted crop tops. I drew a line when she begged to wear a flower crown.

“Wait,” Delly gives my clothes a firm push to the right. “Where have you been hiding _this_?”

My stomach drops. After my mom left I packed up her things and allowed Prim to look through them and take what she wanted and we donated the rest. A few months later, the blue dress showed up in my closet. I knew why Prim had put it there, but I couldn’t throw it away. 

There’s a picture, one of the few I kept, of my parents when they were young. It’s in an old silver frame and it’s easy to believe the expression “a picture is worth a thousand words” when you see it.

It was taken their senior year of high school, they are holding books and my father is smiling and wearing his lettermen’s sweater. Whenever she caught me looking at the picture my mom would smile and tell me all about how my father was the fastest runner in the city and how she would go watch him race every spring weekend.

_“You would blink and the race would be over!” She laughs and tucks my hair back. I hold the picture between my small hands, running my finger along her dress._

_“Well, I would always take you out after and your Pa had a strict curfew!” My dad put his arms around my mom’s shoulders and kissed her on the side of the head. “I needed every minute I could get.”_

_“I was wearing my favorite dress that day because it was your dad’s birthday.” Even though the picture is black and white, I know the dress she’s talking about. Its pale blue with three buttons up the front and a tie around the waist. It was simple and it was beautiful._  

_“I want someone to look at me like Daddy is looking at you!” I turn my head back and smile at my parents._

_“Good lord, she’s nine years old and already thinking about a fella. Do me a favorite, Kitty Kat?” Dad reaches out to ruffle my hair and mom swats his hands away so she can braid it. “Don’t date anyone unless he looks at you like that.”_

“That dress was my mom’s.” I say quietly and Delly’s expression changes from overjoyed to crestfallen.

“Oh crud, I’m sorry Katniss, it’s just such a beautiful dress-" 

“No…” I steady my breathing. “No, I’ll wear it.” Delly gives me a skeptical look but she takes it off of the hanger and lays it on my bed. 

“You know,” Delly starts to take the curlers out of my hair, one at a time. “I always looked up to you in school.”

“Me?”

“You never cared what people thought about you, you know? Like you work so hard but you’re not a big old martyr about it. You’re strong.” Delly’s words throw me for a loop. I’ve spent the last few years trying so desperately to get by, to make sure Prim’s teenage years are the opposite of my own…I honestly never thought anyone noticed. 

“I didn’t really have time for other people in high school.”

“Yeah well, most of them were full of shit anyway.” I catch her eye and she winks. “Katniss, about the Mellarks…” she bites her lip and takes a deep breath before continuing. It’s one of the few times I have seen her with a serious expression. “Our families have been close forever. You know my father works for his?” I nod. “And now my brother. I mean he’s _sixteen_ and he can’t wait to get out of school and become just like Tristan. They’ve already started him…” she trails off again and rapidly blinks her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I assure her. 

“You have to know,” She composes herself. “Peeta…he can play the part when he needs to but he’s not like them. I’ve never met another person, much less a guy, who has a bigger heart or more feelings than Peeta Mellark. I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him.” My face starts to heat but thankfully she doesn’t point it out. “And its none of my business what’s going on but…he trusts you, Katniss. He needs you. Please don’t abandon him after tonight.”

I can see our reflection in the dusty mirror: me, sitting in a folding chair from the kitchen and in a bathrobe, and Delly, dressed in a bright tangerine orange jumpsuit with a belt that is at least three inches wide. Two completely different people, inside and out, but in this moment I completely understand Delly Cartwright. 

I make sure to look her in the eyes before I respond. 

“I’m not sure I could back out now if I tried.”

—

Peeta picks me up at exactly five thirty and I embarrassingly freeze at the sight of him in a suit. It’s a light gray and in the evening light it almost seems to have hint of blue. Or maybe it’s just the pale blue shirt underneath, complimented by a striped tie. He’s already smiling but it grows bigger when he sees me in my dress.

“I promise I didn’t match you on purpose,” he gestures from his shirt to me. I laugh and pull on my coat. “You look really pretty Katniss.” And damn him because I had just gotten over my reaction to the suit and now he has to go and make my brain freeze again.

“Thanks.” I manage to spit out. I don’t think anyone other than Prim has called me “pretty” before. It’s surprisingly nice.

“I’m really sorry you have to go to this,” We walk to his car and I try not to trip in my heels. “Sometimes my family can be…pushy.”

“It’s all right.” I force a casual shrug. “It’s just dinner, right?” Peeta opens the passenger door and I notice a flash of something dark in his eyes. 

“Right.”

 — 

I heard a rumor once the Mellark family bought the two houses on either side of it so they would have the largest and most magnificent property in the district. That they had a driveway full of expensive cars and to even get to it, you had to go through a gate where the doorman was on guard. I heard their lawn was perfectly manicured and their house resembled something out of a magazine. 

The rumors are all true. 

The guard opens the gate with a small wave to Peeta and I let out a small gasp at the sight. The mansion is elaborate and exquisite and I can’t decide if it resembles a castle or a fortress. It’s three stories high with bright white windows and I think my entire apartment can fit in the stone entryway. Peeta pulls his Camaro behind a flashy blue Mustang. 

“Your house is…” I trail off because words can’t even describe my awe.

“Way too big for five people.” Peeta finishes. He kills the engine and takes advantage of my trance by walking over to my side and holding the door open for me. Just this once, I let him help me out of the car.

My heels click against the marble floor of the entryway and Peeta leads me to a room on our left. It looks like a sitting room, expensive looking chairs and love seats surround a roaring fireplace. The room is decorated in gold with pristine white shag carpeting. 

I’ve never seen white carpeting before.

“Well, well, well.” Tristan stands up from one of the armchairs and smirks in my direction. 

“Hello Tristan.”  

“Looking good, Everdeen. You remember Finnick?” The cooper haired man stands from his seat as well. While Tristan’s dark brown suit resembles Peeta’s, Finnick looks like a disco album cover. White bell bottoms that flare out over _boots_ and a hideous paisley and mustard stripped button down. 

“You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Katniss.” I’m certainly not going to return the compliment so I opt for a polite smile. 

“I want to show you something,” Peeta takes my hand and leads me to a corner of the room where an expensive record player sits. There are two shelves of albums on either side, neatly organized. 

“There are so many,” I want to run a finger over the albums and stop and see what I land on but Peeta beats me to it.

“Hm,” He trails a long finger over the spines before gently taking one out. “In the mood for a few classics?” I recognize Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong on the cover and the corner of my mouth lifts into a smile. 

“I don’t have a lot of memories of my grandparents, they always played jazz.”

“No wonder you have such good taste in music.” Peeta cues up the record and the room is filled with the soft sounds of a piano and Ella’s melodic voice. 

“A drink, Katniss?” Tristan stands behind an expensive looking gold cart. Glass bottles of various sizes are balanced atop it and he picks one up, swirling the dark amber liquid around.  

“No thank you.” This night is stressful enough without the added worry of saying something under the influence.

“You’re one of those good girls, aren’t you?” Finnick asks from his lazy stance across the room. He leans into the wall and shakes his own drink. Everything about his posture says casual and flippant, but there’s something about the bronze haired man that always keeps me wondering. 

“Anyone can be good if _you’re_ the comparison,” Peeta’s reply to Finnick is easy, but I relax for a second. Sometimes it worries me how in tuned Peeta is to my feelings, but its times like these I am grateful for it.

“Mother should be arriving soon.” Tristan glances at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. I feel my stomach clench. Aside from the rare glimpse of her around town, I’ve never actually been in the presence of Mrs. Mellark and certainly not had her attention focused on me. 

It’s almost as if the air shifts when she walks into the sitting room.

She is tall and slender and her long black dress perfectly flatters her figure. Her blonde hair, a shade darker than her sons, is swept into a French twist. Her eyes are blue, but much darker than her children’s, and they zero in on me in an instant. She studies me for a minute. 

“Katniss Everdeen.” I hope it’s not noticeable how I freeze at the sound of my own name, how it takes every inch of willpower to collect myself and answer her. 

“It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Mellark.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Her voice is calm but it is impossible to miss the judgment.

“Here mother,” Tristan hands her a clear martini with three olives and she takes it from him without any acknowledgement. She takes a long sip and her eyes look me over once again before directing her attention to her sons. She speaks to them in a clipped tone, like their very presence is a huge burden.

“Your father and William had some business to discuss. They will join us in ten minutes. Peeta, if you don’t turn this music down then you can fetch me a Valium to go with my drink.”

Peeta turns the music down. Mrs. Mellark sits on one of the chairs and Peeta and I awkwardly take the love seat across form her while Tristan hovers near the drink cart.

The Mellark boys have become silent, careful, and the air is tense. Peeta’s left leg is slightly bouncing up and down and I see Tristan clenching and unclenching his fists. Neither can keep eye contact with each other or their mother for more than a minute.

The only one who doesn’t change is Finnick.

“Well I’d love to stay and drink you out of your whiskey stash, but unfortunately duty calls.” He throws a wink at Mrs. Mellark and I wonder if he is suicidal. He takes a horrible plaid jacket from the coat rack and gives me one final look. “Katniss, it’s always a pleasure. No wonder you work at a bakery…you are a _sweet treat_.”

“Goodbye Finnick.” Peeta answers and a glance towards him confirms he is trying to fight off a grin. I don’t bother looking at Mrs. Mellark; I have a feeling she is not amused.

The door shutting behind Finnick starts ten silent minutes in the sitting room until a woman wearing an apron appears in the doorway.

“Dinner is ready, m’aam.” She sounds terrified and Mrs. Mellark stands without sparing her a glance. 

The dining room is as elaborate as the sitting room, though instead of being decorated in gold it is wallpapered in a bright cornflower blue. The light color is in stark contrast to the dark and expensive looking wooden table and I stare for a full minute at the intricate chandelier delicately hanging over the table.

Peeta pulls out a chair for me and I am relieved when he sits in the one next to mine. 

Mr. Mellark and the oldest son, William, walk into the room speaking in hushed voices that cease when they reach the table. 

“Father, Will…this is Katniss.” I hear Peeta say and I feel frozen to my seat as two sets of ice blue eyes turn their gazes to me.  

“Hello,” I move to stand in the off chance they want to shake my hand, but Mr. Mellark gives a quick shake of his head.

“No need to get up, Katniss. It’s wonderful to finally have you for dinner.” 

“You have a lovely home,” The words rush out and for the first time in my life I cannot shut my mouth. “And I really appreciate my job at the bakery. It’s a really nice place to work.” _God, is this how Delly feels all of the time?_  

“With a great boss, right?” I can barely contain a glare towards Tristan who gives Peeta a pointed look.

“How is the wedding planning going, Will?” Peeta effectively changes the attention to his eldest brother. For as opposite as Peeta and Tristan are, William Mellark is even more different. He looks like he could take down more than one person by himself, but he doesn’t speak unless it’s absolutely necessary. He is both smart and terrifying and he takes a long sip of the wine in front of him before answering

“Fine. Betty takes care of most of it.”

“Is her brother bringing that Jewish girlfriend of his?” Mrs. Mellark raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. 

“I don’t know.” Thankfully we are distracted by the arrival of food. The woman in the apron has gained an assistant and they serve Mrs. Mellark and I first, placing a salad in front of each of us. 

“The first course is a broccoli and cauliflower salad.” She says. _First course?_ I try not to let it show I have never had a meal in stages and how the raw broccoli on my plate disturbs me. The men are served and the table falls silent again for a few minutes before Mr. Mellark speaks.

“Peeta.” He says the name as a statement and I feel Peeta tense beside me. His leg starts slightly moving again. I have a sudden and strange urge to reach out and steady him, to provide him some sort of comfort, but I stop myself. 

“Yes, Father?”

“I have a friend stopping by the bakery tomorrow. You’ll take care of him right, won’t you?” Mr. Mellark does not look up from cutting into his steak. 

“Yes, of course.”

“I can send Tristan if you cannot handle it.” And though I do not know what they are talking about I know this isn’t about giving someone a free pastry.

“I can handle it,” Peeta says and I wonder if I am the only one to notice the slight shake in his voice. 

“Can you? I don’t want any mistakes, Peeta.” The light tone drops and is replaced buy something much worse. He looks his youngest son in the eye and to Peeta’s credit, he meets his gaze. 

“I can _handle_ it.” And then Mr. Mellark oddly glances towards me before he looks back at Peeta.

“Well at least you’re in good company.” I could feel my face flush and I wondered for the hundredth time what the Mellark family must think of Peeta and I. Clearly they think we are more than coworkers and I reflect on the past few months, wondering how they could make that assumption. Besides Peeta, the only other Mellark I’ve had contact with is Tristan and while Tristan can be an asshole, I don’t think he would start trouble in his own family just to annoy Peeta. 

Or at least I hope he wouldn’t.

Conversation around the table is forced. William gives clipped answers to any questions, Tristan sounds incredibly bored and Peeta doesn’t smile once. Occasionally Mr. and Mrs. Mellark will speak to each other, but even their interaction sounds superficial. 

It feels like I am sitting around a conference table rather than a dinner table. 

“Betty and her mother are coming over tomorrow to discuss flower arrangements. We’ll be in the sitting room.” Mrs. Mellark looks to her husband and he nods in approval. “It was awful what they first showed me, but I guess that’s what you get with a low budget. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“I thought having sons meant you wouldn’t have to pay for a wedding.” Tristan drawls.

“Don’t be stupid Tristan.” And I see a quick look flash over his eyes on the word _stupid_. “Any event with the last name Mellark attached to it will not be tacky.”

“I could help, if she wants.” Peeta chimes in and Mrs. Mellark scoffs as she whips her head to stare him down.

“Yes, Peeta, because I want nothing more than my _son_ to have input on _flower_ designs. God, people will think you’re even more of a fairy than they already do.” My breath tightens and I feel my hands clench against my lap. I bite back a defensive remark. 

“I ice flowers on cakes.” Peeta’s voice is low and it reminds me of the night with the fight in the parking lot. 

It’s silent for a minute, so quiet I can hear the help washing up dishes in the kitchen. Peeta is staring at him mother, his jaw set and his eyes sharp. 

“What did you just say?” She’s heading towards rage and I am torn between wishing Peeta would keep his mouth shut and feeling incredibly proud of him.

“I said, I ice flowers on cakes.” 

“Peeta, do not talk back to your mother.” Mr. Mellark speaks with authority. “Tristan, you’re going to the bakery tomorrow to take care of the visit.”

“I said I can-“

“Clearly, you can’t.” I look back and forth between Mr. Mellark and Peeta and I am struck by how similar they look. “Let Tristan handle business and you can frost the flowers on the fucking cakes.”

Peeta visibly deflates in his seat and this time I don’t hesitate to reach a hand out and take his in mine, not bothering to care what his family thinks. He doesn’t look my way but he gives my hand a tight squeeze under the table. He eats the rest of his meal and dessert with his left hand. 

I’m not surprised when the goodbyes are as tense and awkward as the rest of the evening has been and I lie when I shake Mr. Mellarks hand and thank him for “a very nice dinner.” The Camaro roars to life and as we head out of the driveway, I notice Tristan sneaking off into a wooded part of the yard.

“Where is Tristan going? It’s freezing out.”

“My brother has a certain after-dinner-ritual.” Peeta grips the steering wheel tight. “Basically he goes out and gets insanely high.”  

“Maybe he should start doing it before dinner.” I suggest and Peeta cracks a grin before he starts actually laughing. The sight, especially after the past few hours, makes me feel more relaxed and I sink into the leather seat, feeling a weight off my shoulder. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” I should be surprised by the apology but it’s so _Peeta_ , to apologize for my potential discomfort when he was the one mortified by his own parents.

“I’m sorry your family doesn’t understand you.” His eyes remain on the dimly lit road but I can see him bite down on his bottom lip. The radio plays a song about a spirit in the sky and I ask Peeta the one question I swore to myself I wouldn’t. “Peeta…why does your family think we’re dating?” He lets out a small sigh.

“Is there any chance I can answer that question another day?" 

“Of course.” I agree immediately because Peeta’s been through enough tonight and he’s starting to look as defeated as he did at the table. I don’t ever want to be the one who makes him look like that. 

We park in front of my apartment building and I notice Prim’s light is on. I take a deep breath and turn towards Peeta.

“You’re different from them.” He purses his lips and looks away. It’s a risk, but I reach out, cup his cheek and tilt his head back to face mine. 

“I don’t want to end up like them,” There’s pain in his voice and my heart tightens but I don’t look away. I can’t predict the future and I can’t make him promises like that, but I have a wildly protective instinct when it comes to Peeta. An instinct that tells me to do anything to take some of his pain away.

I slowly start to lean over the center console and press a light kiss to Peeta’s lips, barely long enough to count but long enough to feel how soft they are. I pull back and I just know my face is redder than a stop sign but Peeta’s face has changed from pain to a stunned sort of surprise. 

“See you at work,” I whisper and I get out of the car without another look back. 

— 

It takes an hour of pacing in my kitchen and a cup of tea before I can muster up the courage to pick up the phone and dial the number. I don’t expect him to be the one to pick up, but he does and the words come out instead of a hello. 

“Haymitch? I need to talk to you…”

 


	10. You cant hide your lying eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has continued to be supporters of this story, even when I was struggling to write this chapter! You are all the reason why this is so fun and I'm so happy to present Chapter 9.
> 
> I don't know what I would do without justmellarky and her AWESOME beta skills and this chapter was only possible because she's the best cheerleader in the world! 
> 
> The title comes from the 1975 song "Lyin' Eyes" by The Eagles.
> 
> As always, every review makes my day and feel free to come be silly on tumblr--I'm starks-and-mellarks over there!

****

 

**Chapter 9: You cant hide your lying eyes**

“Hi,” My voice is an octave higher than usual when I arrive at the bakery the next morning. Peeta is kneading bread dough and gives me a bright smile.

“Good morning, Katniss.”

“Did you have a good rest of the night?” I ask the question politely but all I can focus on are his lips. I have the wild urge to kiss them again. 

“I did,” He says easily. I wonder if maybe I am making a bigger deal out of this than I have to. Clearly Peeta isn’t fazed by our kiss and there’s no reason I should be either. I nod curtly and head to the front. “Hey Katniss?” I glance over my shoulder. “Thank you again.”

“Anytime,” The corners of my mouth lift into a smile and my mood is bright for the rest of the morning.  

Tristan slinks in after the lunch rush.

“Did you enjoy your dinner last night, Katniss?” Tristan cocks his head to the right and loosens the scarf around his neck. I roll my eyes. 

“It was different. Prim and I usually have grilled cheese and soup when the weather starts to get colder.” I shrug my shoulders and Tristan stares at me for a second before his face shifts into something that vaguely resembles a genuine smile.

“That actually sounds pretty good.” He heads towards the back and I contemplate how different my relationship is with Tristan than just six months ago when I started working at the bakery. He heads to the back and clear some of the cookie crumbs from the counter.

“ _I just don’t understand why it has to be here._ ” The cold November winds means Peeta no longer uses the loud fans in the kitchen. On one hand, this means I can easily hear the music from where I stand at the register. However, this also means I can clearly hear conversations in the back. I worry my eavesdropping on Tristan and Peeta is becoming a bad habit, but it doesn’t stop me from listening in. 

“ _Go to the dry cleaning store and see Little Cartwright, let me handle this._ ” Tristan sounds irritated. 

“ _Like hell, Tristan. I’m working in case you didn’t notice._ ”

“ _Well, dip out for a bit and come back. Father doesn’t want you here_.”  

“ _I’m not leaving Katniss with you and_ him.” 

“ _Scared I’ll swoop in on your girl?_ ” I roll my eyes at Tristan’s taunts: it’s sometimes hard to believe he’s the older of the pair. “ _Relax Peeta, she’ll be fine._ ” I hear more shuffling in the back.  

“ _I don’t feel comfortable with this_.”  

“ _Hate to break it to you, little bro, but you don’t have a choice_.” I suck in a sharp breath at Tristan’s blunt but honest words.Sure enough, two minutes later Peeta comes up to the front with an excuse about having to run an errand. 

“That’s fine,” I try to sound reassuring but Peeta is biting the inside of his cheek and looking around the front of the bakery nervously. 

“Just…just call Delly if there are any problems, okay? And you can leave whenever you want.” His worried expression meets mine and I nod my head. “Okay.” He takes his time leaving.

The first thing Tristan does is shut off Peeta’s radio. The silence is deafening.  

The light over the door has been flickering for months but it’s a creepy coincidence that it goes off for good at the exact moment the visitor opens the door. 

He’s different from anyone else I’ve seen come into the bakery for business in the back. He’s smartly dressed in a deep brown suit with a bright red tie. He has oversized glasses, a neatly trimmed beard and walks with an expensive looking cane.

“Good afternoon,” he says coolly. 

“Good afternoon,” I repeat and his gaze lingers over me. It’s different from the way Cato sizes me up: where Cato plain out leers, this man seems to be memorizing me. It’s extremely unnerving and for once in my life I am glad to see Tristan. 

“Antonius,” Tristan greets him like he’s an equal but there’s a slight edge to his voice. “Remind me, have you ever been in the bakery before?”

“I have not. It’s… _traditional_.” He looks around, taps his cane on the floor and then looks back towards me. “A sister?” I notice he directs the question at Tristan, not at me, and though it irritates me I know better than to run my mouth.

“A close friend.” I hear a slight change in Tristan’s voice when he answers. 

Antonius walks around the counter. “Shall we take our business in the back?” 

“Indeed.” Antonius stops as he passes me, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne. “And what _is_ your name?” I open my mouth to answer but Tristan cuts me off.

“Linda James.” He lies easily. “And she’s nearly off the clock. Why don’t you head out early and home to your husband, Linda?” He speaks so casually that I almost miss the urgent look in his eyes. 

“Sure, thanks.” I try to act nonchalant. “I’ll just grab my coat. Nice to meet you.” I attempt a smile at Antonius but it comes out looking more like a grimace. I grab my warm pea coat and scarf and quickly walk out the door.

Usually Peeta insists on driving me home but I don’t mind the walk today: my head is far too jumbled with thoughts of the Mellark brothers, their family and my plans for the evening involving one surly detective at a run down diner. 

— 

Though I was the one who had called the meeting with Haymitch, insisting he meet me at The Hob, I realize when he sits down I have no idea what to say.  

“So.” I start, trying to put into words what I want to do. Because in my head it sounds crazy enough and there’s a small chance Haymitch might laugh at me. Or worse, tell me there’s nothing he can do. 

“So.” He mimics and looks his usual bored and slightly hungover self. 

“So,” I start again, this time with more confidence. “How do you get out of an organized crime family?” _Wow, Katniss. Way to ease him into it._

He stares at me for a minute and his gray eyes that are oddly like my own scan my face. Finally he takes a deep breath and leans back into the booth. 

“Jesus, you’re head over heels for the boy.”  

“It’s not about that.” I try to think of a way to make Haymitch understand. “I know what its like to be forced into a role you aren’t prepared for. You grow up too fast and you think there’s no way out. But there has to be, right?” 

“Look, I’m no goddamn Dear Abby,” He’s paying full attention now, slightly leaning over the table. “But this business..it’s tough to break into and it’s near impossible to break out of. The secrets and the deals go way beyond what you can even imagine and when things don’t go their way it tends to get violent.”

“Why do you know so much about how it works?” I turn the tables and try to find something from Haymitch I can work with. 

“I’m a detective sweetheart, that’s my job.” I hold his gaze and I see a slight flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I know you think you can save him, but a month’s work of snooping and a couple call-ins doesn’t mean you’re an agent fit for a takedown.”

“I don’t care about taking them down, I care about making sure he had the chance for a life he actually wants-“  

“What about the life other people want? The people who make a few mistakes, get down on their luck and make one deal that haunts them forever?”

“Those people aren’t Peeta-“

“They are _somebody’s_ Peeta.” His words deflate me in an instant. I sit back into the booth and take a shaky breath. Haymitch looks down at his untouched coffee cup and starts to slowly speak. “You know, my dad came home from the war with his left hand missing and nightmares about being shot at by Germans. My little brother and I were just kids, we didn’t understand why he couldn’t go back to his job in the mines. He got desperate and went to a guy who could help him out, a guy who knew a guy who needed a favor.”

My stomach starts to sink and his voice gets more gruff as he continues.

“For a little bit it seemed our troubles were gone. We had food on the table and Ma didn’t look so sad all the time. But the favors kept coming and Dad was a little tired of being told what to do so he took the money we had and went to a betting game. Figured maybe if he won enough we could leave town and go up North. 

“There was this new name in town, a guy with the last name Snow who would loan out money for the games. So dad went to him and Snow lent to him and Dad lost it all and then some.” Tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes and I rapidly blink to stop them. “And my dad takes my little brother out for a milkshake one night and they both end up with bullets in their heads.” 

He finally looks up from the mug and I see his raw pain.

“People don’t know any better sometimes, they think it’s their only option. Those families and that life shouldn’t _be_ an option.” I nod in agreement and we are quiet for a few minutes before Haymitch clears his throat. “Do you remember why I pulled you off your work?” 

“Because of Snow.” Saying the name sends a jolt of fear through me, knowing what he’s capable of. “You said if he’s involved then it’s too dangerous.” 

“He _is_ involved. We’re still piecing together how and a lot of the information is shit, but there’s something going on between the Mellarks and Snow’s men. My advice would be to stay as far away from the family as possible.” I bite the inside of my cheek, a move that does not go unnoticed by the detective and he smirks. “But I’m guessing you’re not going to take my advice.” 

“He doesn’t want that life, Haymitch.” I say the words quietly and he heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples with his forefingers. 

“Has he actually said those _exact_ words? Because if you’re forming some plan and he doesn’t even want out, you’re going to end up with your hands as dirty as he is.”

“Peeta is _not_ dirty.” My voice is firm and slightly threatening and this seems to amuse Haymitch.

“It doesn’t matter if you jump in the mud or get dragged into it, sweetheart. In the end, you’re the same kind of dirty.”

—

The next day, Peeta is in a terrible mood at the bakery. I’ve never seen him like this: he slams shut the oven door, makes a racket with the pans and plays the music so loud I can barely hear the customers at one point. He’s cordial enough to me, but one word answers and a tense expression isn’t the Peeta I am used to and my whole day feels a little thrown by it.

Haymitch and I left things fairly unsettled, though he assured me I could call him if I ever found myself in a jam and I promised to try not do anything stupid.

I’m nervous as I get into Peeta’s car after we close up the bakery. The radio kicks in when he starts the car and we drive to my apartment with nothing but the sounds of The Guess Who. I hate seeing him like this and when we pull up to my building, I turn to him.

“Do you want to come up for some hot cocoa?” I ask nicely but there’s a hint of concern in my voice. He lets out a deep breath and turns off the car. 

“I’d like that.” I open my door and get out before he can see my smile. Peeta lingers at the door then grabs a schoolbag from the back. 

The apartment is cold when we walk in and I frown at the radiator. 

“Sorry, this thing is old and awful.” I forcefully twist the knob and can hear a strained noise. “Our landlord keeps saying he will fix it but,” I shrug. “We just keep our coats on.”  

“Then hot cocoa is definitely a good thing.” Peeta crouches down to look at the radiator and tinkers with the knob but there’s no difference in heat by the time I heat up the milk, cocoa powder and sugar. I sprinkle a little cinnamon on top and add a hint of vanilla extract before I stir the liquid with a spoon and divide it into two mugs. 

“Here,” I hand a mug to Peeta and he wraps his hands around it.

“Thank you.” We are quiet as we sip our comforting drink before Peeta clears his throat. “I want to apologize if I was in a bad mood today.”

“You don’t have to apologize, you’re allowed to have bad days.” I’m not the best at being comforting but I’m trying my hardest for him.

“It’s just,” There’s a crease between his eyebrows. “Things are happening in my family. Bad things.” He bites his lip like he’s said too much but continues. “And there’s just all of this pressure and I just…” Peeta trails off and focuses his gaze on me. “You said I was different from my family. I’ve always known it, but ever since you said it it’s all I can think about. But it’s like everywhere in this town, there they are. I can’t escape them. Coal, cocktails and crime, right?” He says the silly town saying with such hatred.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all of that.” I reach out a hand and gently place it on top of his. His breathing picks up a little and he moves his other hand to reach into his backpack.

“You asked me why my family thinks we are dating,” His change of subject takes me by surprise. He pulls a worn spiral book out of his backpack and places it on the table. “Sometimes I like to draw,” He’s nervous and I meet his gaze, encouraging him to continue. “I don’t really know when it started. But it helps me sometimes…helps me relax. It’s something just for me.”

He pushes the sketchbook towards me. 

“Are you sure?”

“They’re probably not even that good…”

But he couldn’t be more wrong. The first few sketches are of places: his backyard, the city skyline, Merchant Street during the Fourth of July. There’s one of Delly, laughing as usual and another of his car parked by a river. Halfway through the book I see sketches of the bakery and I stop when I see one of me.

My hair is in the usual braid and I’m behind the register, looking out the window with a calm expression. Though he used only pencil, the shading and the lines are so precise that it looks exactly like me. I carefully turn the page and let out a small gasp. It’s a drawing of the meadow we went to after Peeta taught me how to drive. In the picture the two of us are sitting on the hood of the car and my hand is over his. We’re looking at each other in understanding and I remember that was the day he told me about his family and I confessed he was always the boy with the bread.

“Peeta…these are extraordinary.” His face softens at my compliment even though the tips of his ears remain red. 

“I had left it outside on the porch on accident a week ago.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My mom got a hold of it I guess and after a nice lecture about how I ‘ _might as well keep a diary for how embarrassing and probably queer I am_ ’ she told me to invite you to dinner.”  

“She’s an awful person.” My blood boils and I _hate_ Mrs. Mellark.  

“She is.” He doesn’t hesitate to agree and somehow that makes it even worse. “God, the whole bunch of them are awful. And I’m _stuck!_ ” He is a mix between exasperated and defeated but it’s his next words that change everything. “I don’t want this life.” 

_There it is._

And before I can truly think about the consequences, I start talking.

“Peeta, there’s a way out. I know someone, a detective for the police, and I know he can get you out if you want to.”

“The police aren’t going to help someone like me, Katniss.”

“But he will, I know he will if I ask him-“

“What kind of pull do you have with a detective?” Peeta cuts me off with a guarded look. My heart starts to race and I feel a ball of anxiety form in my stomach. I should have known this was coming, I should have thought about this ahead of time so I could come up with an answer. 

But when I look at the boy sitting next to me I realize all I want to do is tell him the truth.

“A couple months ago, a detective came to my door. He had some questions and he had an arrangement. He gave me names,” I take a deep breath and feel my throat go dry. “And I had to tell him if they came into the bakery.”

Peeta stares at me with a stone cold expression.

“But then the fight at the club happened and he said it was too dangerous so I stopped doing it but he _understands_ Peeta, he would help you and I trust him-“

“Just like I trusted you?” His voice slightly raises and I tense. “Damnit Katniss, I know you don’t like my family but I didn’t think you would sell us out-“

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“Bullshit you didn’t.” Peeta stands up from his chair and crosses his arms. 

“He knew about Prim, he knew I wasn’t her guardian! What was I supposed to do?” 

“So you threw my family under the bus to protect your own?” Peeta is fuming and though I don’t blame him, I can’t stop talking as I stand up too.

“They never asked about you specifically, you or Tristan. It was more identifying other people, what they picked up,”

“What they _picked up_?” I cringe at the incredulous look on Peeta’s face. “Jesus, Katniss, do you know how fucking bad this is?”

“I know it’s bad, it’s horrible and that’s why I want to find a way to get you _out_ ,” I’m pleading with him now and tears are pricking the corner of my eyes, but Peeta shakes his head and let’s out a humorless laugh. 

“You think I can get out of this? There’s no way out. This is my fucking LIFE!” He shouts the last word and I can feel the tears run down my face. “I’m a goddamn Mellark. And I thought _you_ ,” He points angrily at me. “I thought you might be one of the few people who could see past the name, who wouldn’t manipulate me the exact way they do.”

“Peeta,” I start but I can tell he doesn’t want to hear a thing from me. His next words come out slightly choked, like he is fighting a lump in his throat.

 “God Katniss, I don’t even know what’s real anymore.” He looks hurt and I would rather have him scream at me for hours than see that look for one more minute. He turns around and walks out of the apartment, like he couldn’t leave fast enough. Like he couldn't get away from _me_ fast enough.  

It’s not until I hear the door that leads out of the building close that I allow myself to freely cry, although I know I am incredibly selfish for it. Peeta is right: I did exactly what his family had always done. I snuck around and made deals, thinking only of myself in the process. 

And I hate myself for it. 

 


	11. These eyes, are cryin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is it! Chapter 10, Part 1: aka Katniss' emotional turmoil after telling Peeta. Thank you to everyone who has been encouraging me with this story, your kind words and cheerleading mean the world. A very special thank you to justmellarky/acciograce for being an incredible beta, reader and friend!
> 
> Potential trigger warning: This chapter mentions the Kent State University shooting. 
> 
> Part 2 will be up soon and is all in Peeta's POV! :)
> 
> Also, the title comes from the Guess Who song "These Eyes"

                                              

**Chapter 10 Part 1** : **These eyes, are cryin’**

_November, 1978_

It’s a restless night. 

When I look in the mirror the next morning, I see bloodshot eyes and tear tracks down my cheeks. I try to go through my normal routine to get ready but there’s a part of me that wonders if I really need to bother. Chances are I don’t even have a job at the bakery anymore. 

I run a brush through my knotted hair.  

_What was I thinking?_ I just _blurted_ it out to him without thinking about any of the consequences. His devastated face was even worse than his anger. 

Anger I can handle and understand. But I hurt Peeta in a way he’ll never be able to forgive me for. And I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself. 

“Katniss?” I hear Prim’s soft voice and her door creaks open.

“Did I wake you up, Little Duck?” My voice is hoarse and she walks over to me. Without a word, Prim embraces me in a hug. We sleep in layers because of the lack of heat, but I feel her warmth and I hold on to her. “I’m fine, Prim.”

“It’s going to be okay.” She repeats what she said last night when she found me curled in a ball on our living room floor. “I promise, everything is going to be okay.”

“I know. Go back to bed, you’ve got another hour of sleep.”

I tug my hat over my head when I walk out the door. The walk is dark and quiet and though I am well used to the early morning stillness, today it makes me nervous and uncertain. I have no idea what to expect when I reach the bakery. 

Will Peeta fire me? He says he wants workers he can trust and I screwed that up pretty badly. Will he tell his family? It’s hard for me to believe Peeta might do that because he knows as well as I do that it would only lead to disaster and danger for me. 

I remember Haymitch’s warning that if things went wrong Capitol Police would not claim me. I was careful last night not to mention Haymitch by name, but if Peeta demanded I tell him what will I do? Can I turn in Haymitch, ensuring him a horrible fate? 

_Peeta is not his father or either of his brothers_ , a small voice reminds me. I can’t think of a single time Peeta has sought revenge or harm on another person, no matter how much the person deserves it. I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse.

I notice Peeta’s car is not in the driveway when I reach the bakery. Instead, a fancy red Trans Am is parked in its place and I sigh. _Tristan_.

“Everdeen,” He greets me when I enter the back door. 

“No Peeta today?” 

“Nope. Peeta’s got other shit to do, apparently. He owes me.” Tristan seems annoyed at his brother but not angry with me. I'm guessing either Peeta hasn’t told him or Tristan is waiting for the opportune moment. 

Either way it's going to be a long shift. 

Tristan and I have exactly one conversation the entire morning:

“The light over the front door is out.”

“Do I look like a damn handyman?”

“No, but do you have a ladder and a light bulb lying around?”

“Beats me” His shrug irritates me more than it should. 

“It’s your business too, you know.” I give him and look and he lets out a dark laugh.

“This,” he motions around. “This ain’t my business.”

I feel like storming back to the front counter but I control myself and walk quietly. I take my frustration out on the dusty front window, spraying glass cleaner and rubbing it down with a rag. 

It’s just beginning to rain when Delly walks in.

“Wouldn’t you know the damn weatherman said there was _no_ chance of rain today?” She shakes water droplets off of a very expensive looking fur coat. Prim would have a heart attack if she saw her in it.  

“The weatherman is rarely right.” I finish wiping at a stubborn spot. 

“Well I’m making Peeta call me a ride. I can’t go back out in this, it’s getting worse.” She’s right, but hearing Peeta’s name sends a jolt through my gut. 

“Peeta’s not here today,” It takes a lot of concentration to make my voice seem casual. “Tristan’s in the back.”

“Really?” Delly scrunches up her nose. “Peeta never takes a day off.”

“According to Tristan, he has ‘ _shit to do_.’” I lower my voice to imitate Tristan and Delly giggles. Her laugh sounds like little bells clinking together.

“Can I be nosy for a minute?” She looks wary, as if she’ll easily back off if I say no. But I find myself curious to what she wants to know. 

“Sure.” 

“Is there something going on between you and Peeta?”

“It’s…” I sigh. “It’s kind of hard to explain.” I meet her sympathetic expression and though I can’t possibly tell her the half of it, I go on. “He’s my boss, you know? I have Prim to worry about, I can’t afford putting my job in jeopardy. Even though…” I trail off.

“Even though you like him.” She finishes and there is no question in her voice. 

“A lot,” I admit in a whisper. “But I think I screwed it up.”

“Unless you did something _really_ awful, I don’t think that’s even possible.” She reaches her hand out to mine and gives a comforting squeeze. I remain quiet because I _did_ do something really awful and it’s likely Peeta and I will never be the same. “He really likes you Katniss. And you know he’s a good enough guy that even if something did go wrong, your job would never be in danger.”

“I hope not,” It’s hard to sound optimistic: where Delly thinks the worst I can do is break Peeta’s heart, I know I have gone one step further. I broke his trust.

“It’ll be okay. They don’t write love songs about the easy things, right?” She asks with a bright smile and I tentatively return it. Delly talks a lot but she’s not a bad listener.

I don’t bother asking Tristan for a ride home when my shift ends, even though the rain has gone from a drizzle to a steady pour. It reminds me of the day Peeta drove me home for the first time and we listened to “Beast of Burden.” Was it really only a few months ago? 

But then again, time has a scary way of flying by when you aren’t paying attention. In just over a month it will be 1979, the last year of the decade. People are already getting nostalgic and trying to “define” the 70’s. Hazel Hawthorne says they do the same thing every decade, like a rush to make sure the last ten years counted for something.

I remember the first year, 1970. The Jackson 5 topped the charts with “ABC,” and “Let it Be” and “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” competed for “most likely to make you cry.” It may have been a new decade, but it was proving to be just as turbulent as the sixties were. 

Four days before my tenth birthday, four students were shot dead at Kent State University. 

My mother cried and my dad shook his head. We said two extra prayers for the students and their families before dinner and the news played clips of candlelight vigils across the nation. The high school was closed because the students were protesting and there was tension in the streets. 

The day before my birthday, three days after the massacre, we had a school assembly. The choir performed and three students were selected to read prayers and thoughts in honor of those who died.

Peeta Mellark was one of those students. 

He was the second one to go and he walked to the microphone with his head hung low. He pulled out an index card from his pocket and stared at it for a full minute before tucking it back in his pocket and lifting his head to speak:

_“Today we remember four students: Jeffery, Allison, Will and Sandra. The news says they were protesting a war.”_ It was at this time a few teachers sat up straighter in their chairs. _“I think people_ should _protest war. War is really bad and people get killed. Fighting and violence shouldn’t be the answer and I wish the soldiers who shot the guns at those students knew that-“_ Peeta was yanked away from the microphone by a stern teacher.  

The next day, Peeta came to school with a black eye and a swollen lip, which he blamed on wrestling with his brothers. 

Because it was my birthday, my mom had packed a bag of sugar cookies with my lunch. After lunch our class filed in a line to go to recess and I sped up my walk towards Peeta. When I reached him, I shoved the bag of cookies into his hands. He looked confused.

“ _I don’t like fighting either. What you said was right.”_

And then he smiled the brightest smile I had ever seen and I suddenly felt shy. 

“ _Thank you, Katniss_.”

But it’s not 1970 anymore; I can’t make Peeta feel better with a bag of cookies. I feel ridiculously pathetic as I walk up the stairs in my apartment building, sopping wet and on the verge of tears. 

I stick my key into the lock but the door is already open. I hear noise from the living room and tense. 

I am surprised to see my landlord working on my broken heater. He is surrounded by tools and swears slightly when he drops a wrench on his finger. 

“Mr. Donner?”

“Katniss! Hello. I was waiting for you or your mother to return.” He smiles at me, nicer than he ever has before. Mr. Donner is an absentee landlord and only cares about the rent being paid on time. It never bothers me because I don’t want him to realize my mother is gone, but I’ve been asking about the heater since last winter and suddenly he seems all too happy to fix it. 

“Thanks for fixing this.” I say curtly and he nods with so much enthusiasm I worry he’s going to drop another tool.  

“Of course! It’s not a worry at all!”  

I’m too tired to question his change in attitude so I grab some warm clothes to change into and towel dry my wet hair. After I dress and come out of the bathroom, I notice how much of a difference the heat makes. Mr. Donner is packing the last of his tools and he looks over at me with the same too-happy expression. 

“So Katniss…I didn’t know you worked for the Mellarks.”  

“I work at the bakery.” I answer. And then it clicks, why he’s here fixing this just a day after Peeta experienced my freezing apartment first hand.

For as angry and hurt as he was last night, Peeta made a call. I know Peeta, he hates using his last name to get ahead, but he did it to fix one of my problems.

It’s so… _Peeta_ and I quickly turn from Mr. Donner before he can see the tears that fill my eyes. 

“Thank you for fixing it,” I manage to get out before the first one falls. Mr. Donner leaves and I sink to the kitchen chair, running a hand through my still wet hair and I let the tears silently fall. 

I don’t know how to make any of this better. I don’t know how to fix what I have broken.

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts and I wonder if Prim forgot her key. But when I open the door, it’s not my sister standing on the other side. 

It’s Peeta.

 

 


	12. Behind Blue Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out writing Peeta's POV (especially after seeing him so tortured in Mockingjay!) is wayyyy hard. Without mellarkymia (formerly justmellarky, still acciograce, she is a woman of many identities) this chapter would still be making me a mad mess. Thank you K for all of your help.
> 
> And thank YOU, fabulous reader, for sticking with this story. This chapter is named "Behind Blue Eyes" after the song from The Who and also because it's a very Mellark brother song. 
> 
> As always, reviews are awesome and my tumblr is always open! starks-and-mellarks

****

 

**Chapter 10 Part 2:** Behind Blue Eyes

_December, 1978_

_Peeta_

I don’t realize how recklessly I am driving until I skid around a corner and nearly take out a fire hydrant. I pull the Camaro over and grip the steering wheel tight. 

A thousand thoughts run through my head and I can’t seem to focus on only one. I’m angry, betrayed, upset, disbelieving and something else I can’t begin to figure out. How could Katniss just _blurt_ it all out like that?

The funny thing is, I thought I was making progress with her. It isn’t easy to get a full conversation out of Katniss, much less a friendship, but we’ve gotten closer in the past six months. Sure, maybe it would never live up to the stupid dream I’ve had in my head since I was five, but it was something good. I was grateful to have her in my life.  

Now I wonder if I can ever look at her the same way again.  

“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m more careful for the rest of my drive but it does nothing to ease my mood.  

When I walk into the house I am momentarily taken aback by how _warm_ it is. We have multiple fireplaces and I know my father likes to keep them on once the cold weather hits. We also have heat and my gut clenches when I think about Katniss and Prim in their cold apartment.   

Katniss might not be my favorite person at the moment but I don’t want her and her sister to freeze to death. 

I find the information I need after my shower and put on my best “Mellark” voice for the call to her landlord. 

“So the problem will be fixed tomorrow?” It’s a trick I learned from Will: you ask the question in a tone that means there is only one answer. Tristan just liked to threaten people. To each is own I guess. 

“Of course, Mr. Mellark.” Mr. Donner is quick to answer. “Tomorrow, of course.” I hang up the phone and hear the front door open. It’s my mother, carrying more shopping bags than she can handle.  

“Need a hand?” I ask.

“What does it look like, Peeta?” She’s annoyed and I bite the inside of my cheek. “And don’t talk to me like that, use complete sentences. I knew we should have sent you off to boarding school.” She throws a few bags at me and I follow her up to her “dressing room” (one closet for her clothes isn’t enough).  

Mother has been threatening me with boarding school and Tristan with military school since we were five years old. Sometimes I wish she sent us off, but I know we would have had to come back here anyway.  

Tristan doesn’t come home until after dinner and he heads right to the fridge, grabs a six-pack of beer and goes to the back porch. He’s already lit a cigarette when I shut the sliding door behind me 

“I need you to work for me in the bakery tomorrow.”

“Hello to you too.” He leans against the railing and doesn’t look up at me. A gust of wind picks up and I cross my arms. I should have predicted Tristan would be difficult and grabbed a coat to keep warm. 

“Are you going to do it?”

“Why, did you fuck things up with Everdeen?” He lazily glances over and I feel my face fall at her name. “ _That_ was an easy guess.”

“Never mind why, will you just do it Tristan?” I’m uncomfortable _and_ annoyed now. “I’ve never asked you to before-“

“Jesus, settle down you’re killing my buzz. Here,” He hands me a beer from the six pack.  

“Thanks.”

“I’ll work your shift tomorrow.” I relax and walk over to where he is leaning against the railing. Tristan takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. “You want one?”

“Nah.” I’ve smoked a few cigarettes before, all with Tristan, and I frankly think they are disgusting. 

Another gust of wind rustles the trees in our backyard and I sip my drink and gaze out. We have a large property and spend a lot of money keeping it perfectly landscaped. Our family used to throw a big party on Easter Sunday and I remember hundreds of plastic eggs scattered across our lawn and the race to collect the most. 

As a kid you don’t question things and sometimes I wonder if that’s why kids are so happy. They run around without a care in the world, unaware of the faults in their parents and the obligations that wait for them when they grow up. Kids aren’t scared of the future because they don’t spend their days worrying about it.

Unlike me. 

I want to ask Tristan these questions, but we don’t have the kind of relationship where we talk about personal stuff under the stars. I settle for a more general question.

“Do you ever wonder what father was like as a kid?”  

“I haven’t had enough beer for those thoughts, Peet.” I know he is rolling his eyes but I continue.

“Or how he and mother met? Did she know what she was marrying into?”

“You’ve met our mother Peeta, she was marrying into money and that’s probably all she gave a shit about.” I realize he is probably right and we are quiet again for a minute. “Does this have something to do with Everdeen?”

“ _No_.” I emphasize and he smirks. 

“Look Peet, your last name’s Mellark. And there are a hell of a lot of perks that come with that name but you also have to remember there’s responsibility.” Tristan takes another drag on his cigarette and I scoff.

“ _You’re_ going to talk about responsibility?” _That’s a laugh_. He gives me an annoyed look.  

“You have a responsibility to this family.”  

“You hate this family.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs and puts his cigarette out on the deck. “But what the fuck else are we supposed to do, huh?” 

“The bakery and the dry cleaners do well-“

“You want to live on a baker’s salary? You think you’d be driving a Camaro if our father had decorated cakes for the last twenty years?” 

“You know I hate that side, I’ll be shit at it-“ 

“Bullshit. You’re scared because you know you’re better at it than any of us.” I give him an incredulous look. “Save it Peeta, I saw you that night when we fought Snow’s men and I see you in the bakery when one of our boys comes in. You know people, how they tick-“

“That doesn't mean-“

“You are already good at ‘ _that_ _side_ ’. You can talk all you want Peeta, you’re a Mellark and this shit is what we do.”

“Even if it’s wrong.” Tristan’s silence is an answer and I grip the rail of the deck. I’m about to open my mouth, about to argue that we should be better than this, but Tristan speaks first.

“It’s weird we never call him dad, right? He’s always father.” Tristan opens another beer. “You know, he used to call his old man ‘dad.'”

“Really?” I don't have clear memories of my grandfather. He died when I was really young. 

“Yep. You know, Grandpa Mickey is the reason we got so rich.” I start to tense up again because I know where Tristan is going with this. “This life ain’t perfect, but it’s the one we’ve got. You want to fight the business and how we got here, you take it up with the dead. Father is just doing what he knows.”

“And what about us? Are we just supposed to do what we know?” We stare at each other, at odds as always.

“I guess so.”

We both turn back to gaze at the backyard. _So much for a meaningful conversation under the stars_. If possible, I feel even more confused than I have all day.  

Tristan finishes his beer and stretches. 

“I gotta hit the hay since _some_ of us have work tomorrow.”

I try to smile but I doubt there’s a trace of happiness in it.

“Thanks again for covering for me.” 

“Yeah, yeah you owe me.”

—

I tug my hat lower onto my ears as I stretch out on the hood of my car. The trees are almost bare from leaves and the meadow is quiet except for occasional gust of wind.  I glance warily at the sky.

The clouds are just gray enough to predict rain but I’m finally starting to think clearly so I risk staying out for a bit longer.  

My sketchbook is open and a blank page stares at me. The pencil is in my hand, but I haven’t even drawn a line. 

The truth is, I can’t get Tristan’s words out of my head. “ _You’re already good at_ that _side_.”

I don’t remember how old I was when I realized what being a Mellark meant, but I remember I was fifteen when I decided I wanted nothing to do with it. 

_I had just started working at the bakery. Tristan and I would go with our father before school and help him open the place and prepare it for the day. Will had already started work full time at the dry cleaners when he graduated. Father told Tristan he would be working in the bakery and I begged to come along. I hated the smell of the dry cleaners._

_One morning a man knocked frantically at the front door. It was a half hour before opening time and I was out front writing prices on the chalkboard._  

_“Father!” I called to the back and the man’s knocking grew louder. “Can I open the front door?”_

_“Who is it?”_

_“I don’t know,” I felt uneasy and was yanked back from the counter by the collar of my shirt._  

_“Go back with your brother.” My father’s voice changed and I followed his orders._

_But it didn’t stop Tristan and I from spying._

_The man was dressed in shabby clothes, his hair was greasy and he had puffy purple bags under his eyes._  

_“Its pretty simple, Mitchell. I help you so you can feed your darling wife and those little twins. And in return you run an errand for me. Now tell me, Mitchell, why couldn’t it be simple?”_

_“The cops were on to it, I had to split before they found me-“_

_“Are you more afraid of the police than of me?”_  

_“They coulda locked me up-“_

_“If I do not have five thousand dollars in my hand in twenty-four hours you will wish you were looking at a jail cell.” Father didn’t have to raise his voice to deliver the threat: the haunting tone of his voice was enough._

_“Yes sir.” The man takes a shaky breath and opens the door. Tristan and I jump back and pretend to busy ourselves with bread dough._

_A few days later I was reading the newspaper, trying to find an example of a well-written article to bring to my English class. I caught sight of a picture in the upper left corner of obituary page and my stomach dropped._

_It was him. It was Mitchell, looking bright and happy in the picture, much different from the man I saw. The obituary said it was an accidental drowning in the river._  

I knew it wasn’t an accident. 

It took two years to come up with the plan: before I graduated high school, I would sit down and talk with my father. I would explain that I really wanted a feel for the baking side of the business before I started anything else.  

I would tell him that the more I knew about running a bakery the better I could figure out how to hide any discrepancies in the ledger. If I knew how much we needed to sell to hit certain numbers I could work with those numbers and keep us out of investigation. I practiced my speech in the shower so I was certain no one would overhear it. 

It paid off: after our conversation, I was pretty sure my father thought the whole thing was his idea.  

I had six months of baking only (even though that meant keeping eye on a few “packages” that “patrons” would pick up during a shift) and then I would learn about everything else.

My six months will be up next month. And I’m no closer to figuring out what I can do.

I’ve thought about running away, about just packing up the Camaro and leaving town. Changing my name, never looking back. But then Katniss started working at the bakery and part of me felt like I couldn’t leave her behind.

The other part of me worried that I would miss my chance with her. 

Now I don’t know what to think. 

“Jesus,” I mutter when the wind picks up. I look down at my blank sketchbook and contemplate making a list of reasons I should forgive Katniss. The anger has faded from last night but I’m still left confused and hurt. 

She said the detective knew she wasn’t Prim’s guardian, which probably meant he held it over her until she agreed to cooperate. I rub my hands together for more warmth and sigh. 

Katniss is just a piece in the police department’s game, just like I am a piece in my family’s. We think we have choices but is it really a choice when it’s between safety and what they want?

“What am I supposed to do?” I shout at the gray clouds but the empty meadow doesn’t give me an answer. 

Instead, the clouds open up and it starts raining. I scramble to get into the car and throw my sketchbook on to the passenger seat. 

“ _Peeta…these are extraordinary._ ”

I believed her when she said it last night and I want to believe her about everything else too. My anger is fading and I realize I just want the truth from Katniss. I want the truth and I want to believe her and maybe then I’ll know what to do.

—

She opens the door and her expression turns to surprise when she sees me. The first thing I notice is her tear stained cheeks and my heart tightens a bit.

“Hi.” Her voice is hoarse and she seems unsure of herself. 

“Hi.” I repeat, not surprised at how shaky the simple word sounds.  

“Do you want to come in?” She takes a step back and I nod and follow her. _Was I really here 24 hours ago?_ I shrug off my wet jacket and she takes it and hangs over a chair near the radiator. “The landlord fixed our heat today.” She bites her lip and I know she knows I made the call. 

“That’s good.” I reply and she gives me a small smile but doesn’t bring it up. For that, I am grateful: we are already being awkward enough.  

“Peeta-“ 

“Katniss-“ 

We both smile as we talk at once.

“You can go first,” I say. She leads me over to the worn couch to sit. There’s six inches between us but we face each other. Katniss takes a deep breath. 

“Peeta, I’m so, so sorry I blurted it out like that. I’m sorry that I agreed to do it, I’m sorry that I kept it from you. You’ve always treated Prim and I so well and I just….you deserve a lot better than that.” She keeps my gaze but I can tell it’s hard for her. Her chin wobbles but her eyes stay dry. 

I wasn’t expecting such a heartfelt apology, not right away and it takes a second to figure out what to say. 

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

“No, I deserved-“

“No one deserves to be shouted at like that.” I cut her off and shake my head.“I shouldn’t have lost my temper. It’s just…” I run a hand through my hair. “I have so many questions…but I don’t know if I want all of them answered.” She nods in understanding. “You said he knew about you and Prim?”

“Yes.” Katniss bites her lip. “He knew I wasn’t her guardian and he said he could help me if I helped the department. I couldn’t see another way at the time so I agreed and gave him information for a month.” 

“Just a month?” 

“I guess word got around about the fight when we all went out to the club.” I tense, remembering that night and how wound up I felt. I realize now how easily I slipped into a different version of myself. The version my father always wanted me to be. “He said if Snow was involved it was too dangerous for me.”

“He’s right.” I rest my elbow against the couch cushion and lean into my palm. “I don’t know a lot about what’s going on between his men and my family right now, but I know it’s not good.” A look of worry flashes across Katniss face and my stomach drops.

All of the sudden it hits me. 

The damn detective knows more about what’s best for her than I do. I asked Tristan the questions about outsiders being involved with our family because I thought, when it came down to it, it would be Katniss’ choice.  

The safest thing to do would be to take that choice away from her, to make sure she stays as far away as possible. But I know I can’t do that.

“I’m a such a selfish person.” I look down at my lap and shake my head. “I shouldn’t have hired you at the bakery, I’m only putting you in harm’s way. My family is dangerous but there are worse things out there and-“ 

“Peeta!” Katniss’ hand reaches out to cover mine and it’s only when I stop talking that I realize how fast I am breathing. 

“It’s not worth it, Katniss.” I try to make her understand. “Your safety, Prim’s safety…being close to me will only mess that up. It’s not worth it.” _I’m not worth it_ , I think and somehow Katniss knows. Slowly, her hand reaches up and cups my right cheek.  

I can tell she’s wrestling with her thoughts; she wants to say something but isn’t sure how. Yet all I can think about is the last time she cupped my cheek she kissed me.  

As much as I want her to stay away from me and keep herself out of harm’s way, the far larger part of me wants her to kiss me again. 

God, I am _such_ an ass.  

“You said last night you didn’t know what was real anymore.” She says softly. “I’m so sorry for everything Peeta and I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me. But you have to know, the feelings I have for you? Those are…well they’re real.”

_Real_. A glimmer of hope slowly starts to shine through my feelings of dread.

“It’s probably not a good idea to have feelings for me,” I say in one last attempt to convince both her and myself. 

“Too bad.” She lightly shrugs and the corners of her mouth pick up into a smile. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you anymore.”

The sound of a key turning the door lock startles us both and Katniss’ hand drops from my face. I immediately miss it and I know all of my willpower to keep her away is probably gone forever.

“That rain is awful! It just soaks you to-Peeta!” Prim’s face lights up when she sees me and she quickly turns to Katniss with a knowing look. “Well it’s so nice you’re _both_ here. I’m going to go in my room, don’t worry about me!” She nearly skips to her bedroom and I chuckle at the slight blush that colors Prim’s cheeks. 

“Subtle.” I give Katniss a wink. She rolls her eyes and I sit up straighter. “I should get going anyway.”

We stand up and she walks me to the door but I turn to her before I walk out. 

“I want you to know, I’m not angry with you.” She looks like she wants to tell me I should be so I keep talking. “I shouldn’t have even defended my family last night, I mean I of all people know how, uh,” I can’t find the words but Katniss shakes her head.

“Families are complicated.” For someone who doesn’t usually use a lot of words, Katniss sure knows how to pick them when she does.

“Are you scared?”

Katniss contemplates my question for a second. 

“A little. Are you?” 

“Always.” I answer honestly and her expression slightly falls. “Katniss, I…I don’t know what I’d do if something happens to you because of me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Her voice is so honest that I almost believe her. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.” She’s wrong but I don’t press the issue. 

“Just stay safe, okay?” She nods but I still hover in the doorway. Something won’t let me leave yet. “You promised no more secrets and you’re staying safe, right?”  

“Real.” And she says it with the sweetest little half smile that I act on impulse and pull her into my arms. She smells like lavender and she holds me on to me as tight as I hold on to her. 

My family is not the affectionate type. In fact, the only person I regularly get hugs from is Delly and she’s usually bouncing around that it’s more of a shake than a hug.

This is different. This is warm, comforting and tender. We don't say anything but I’ve never felt more in tune with Katniss or felt like someone understood me more than in this moment.

I hold on tight and I know I will not be the first to let go. 

 


End file.
